


the devil you know

by deadeyedraw



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, also a plot eventually, look they're almost kinda getting along, really slow burn, tags will update as appropriate, the slowest burn continues to burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeyedraw/pseuds/deadeyedraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.  But times are a-changing, and Jesse McCree is forced to stop living in the past if he wants to make it anywhere with Overwatch's future.  An eventual build towards a McHanzo romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the ghosts that we knew

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know what I'm doing. A reason to write McHanzo, a terrible ship that has taken over my life, and focus on Jesse, my main. Will be a slow build, for both romance and Jesse's character.
> 
> All in all, I hope you enjoy. :x

It feels like he’s only just finally gotten to sleep when his watch gives a lonely ping from his bedside.  Enough to stir the gunslinger, enough to convince him to roll over and squint open one eye at the dark screen.  After a few heartbeats, he’s content to dismiss it as a figment of a busy mind,  _ an overactive imagination _ , and it pings again, bright words scrolling across the tiny face.   _ Hell and damnation _ , he thinks, one hand flying forward to silence the chiming piece.   _ Don’t they know what time it is?   _ The birds haven’t even started to sing yet.

And then, a beat later.

_ Who the hell knows how to reach me here? _

A cold wash of panic washes over the sleepy haze, whisky brown eyes snapping to attention as he jolts upwards.  Blankets fly sideways in his haste.  He grapples for the revolver resting bedside out of sheer habit – Jesse grabs the device afterwards, and the message title is not one he’d ever expect to see, this lifetime or the next.

_ ATHENA _

_ Overwatch: Recall _

It’s marked as high priority, the bright red exclamation point flashing ominously next to the small next.  Huffing through his nose, Jesse thumbs across the message, marking it as read before tossing the watch back to the small side table.  Can deal with that a more reasonable time, he reckons.  He’s going to need a clear head before he can handle any of that nonsense.

_ How’d they find me? _

The question filters into his mind uninvited as he slips the revolver back as well, flopping unceremoniously into the mess of pillows.  Flat.  Could use a few new ones, but he did never remember how pathetic they were until he’d reached the cabin deep in Smoky Mountains.  The problem with a safe house was just that – never thought much on it until he needed it, and the skip through Knoxville was good for the best sort of whisky, but rarely did he consider anything beyond the immediate necessities.

Those necessities well included the cigarillos across the room.  Only minutes past before Jesse McCree was shoving off the lumpy mattress and padding barefoot across the room, to see himself leaning against the open window, smoke rising from his lips.  The earthy taste did little to steady the shiver caught somewhere in his mind, staring out blankly into the dark forest.  Shouldn’t have been able to find him out here.  Didn’t use a card – didn’t  _ own _ a card for that exact reason.  Sure, there’d been that  _ incident _ with the train down in Georgia a few days past, but he hadn’t wasted any time looping around to the humid mountains before disappearing into dogwood trees like a phantom.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

_ Suppose it takes a ghost t’ find one _ .

Jesse glanced back across the room to the silent device, mouth working the damp end of his cigarillo.  Did he even want to go back?  What, exactly, would Overwatch even  _ be _ , missing Ana Amari?  Jack Morrison?  Hell, even Gabriel Reyes?  He was pretty certain he couldn’t bring himself to miss the twisted bastard, but what, he wondered, was the agency if not a cemetery?  Who the fuck went back to a graveyard haunted with their personal ghosts?

_ Someone who has nowhere else to go _ .

His stomach growled, and the gunslinger grimaced.  Tapping the ash out the window, he turned, wandering across the small cabin to the pantry.  Pulling on the cupboard door, his grimace only grew.  Two packages of instant ramen, a granola bar, and a box of store-brand poptarts he was fairly certain had taken up residency during his last attempt to hide out.  Running out of grub.  Unfortunately, grocery shopping hadn’t been high up on his list while working his way through Knoxville, last seen heading further north.  Constantly looking over a shoulder tended to have that effect on a man.

Jesse groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Limited options.  He’d finished off the whisky three days ago.  He’d run out of smokes tomorrow, and food not long thereafter.  Regardless of what he did (short of starving), he’d have to make a trip out of the little mountainside camp and risk his neck for a meal.  His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips.

“Shit.”

_ Someone who has nowhere else to go _ .

Grabbing one of the Poptarts and tearing open the flimsy silver packaging, he shoved one pastry into his mouth as he snubbed the remainder of the cigarillo on the plate.  Cinnamon and sugar.  Couldn’t beat the classics.  Wiping the crumbs away from his shirt, he picked the watch back up, thumbing across the face a second time.  The message from Athena popped back up, bright yellow text making him squint in the low light.  He was going to need to invest in better technology, he reckoned.  The email told him little that the subject line different, save for one small detail – location.

Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

How on God’s green earth was he supposed to get his ass (Wanted: Dead or Alive) from Bumfuck Nowhere, Tennessee, to the south coast of Spain?  Hopping a train was out of the question.  Didn’t much fancy hijacking a freighter across the Atlantic, either.

“Gonna have to get clever, McCree,” he grumbled to himself, shoving the second Poptart in his mouth.  At least Athena hadn’t set him a deadline.  His mouth quirked up sideways around the crumbling crust.  Gonna have to be clever – at least he always did like a challenge.

As it turned out, a man didn’t need to hijack a freighter to make his way to Spain – grizzly old captain didn’t care a wink what your name was, as long as you had enough cash in hand to pay your way.  Frankly, he could have been a gorilla in a pair of eyeglasses, and he was fairly certain  _ Captain Hook _ wouldn’t have batted an eyelash.

The important part was that he got Jesse to the port city of Cádiz, dropping the man of on the docks covertly while his goods were unloaded. The really important part was that Jesse McCree still knew how to hotwire a motorbike.  Technology hadn’t changed much from days spent down in Deadlock Canyon – the world had bigger problems than updating motorcycles.  Ride shouldn’t take him more than two hours, but he makes it last two days.  Enjoys the catch of the day on the docks before he takes off, stays the night in a tiny lakeside in that probably hasn’t seen a customer in the past three weeks.  He’s tempted to simply  _ stay _ there, enjoy the cool air and the quiet lick of waves, but he’s gotten three more messages since he’s left the Back Bay in Boston, and he’s pretty certain they aren’t going to stop until he answers, or shows up on Winston’s doorstep.

He opts for the latter.  Gives him less room to panic, change his mind.

Ditching the motorcycle a town away, McCree is finally forced to answer the damn messages on his device (there are seven now, good grief).  It takes less than half an hour for an inconspicuous truck to pull up in front of the bar the cowboy has settled outside, and moments later, one bubbly girl in a bright yellow and stark white is pulling him onto the ratty bench seat.  “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show, love!”  She’s all bubbles and cheer, and even he can’t resists the urge to smile.

“Wouldn’t think of lettin’ y’down,” he drawls, dipping the rim of his hat once.  “Jes’ took me a bit a’ time t’get from there t’ here.”

It’s not entirely true, but Lena seems satisfied with the answer.  She’s chattering happily as they whip down narrow roads and his mind can barely keep up.  The other agent isn’t about to give him the time either.  No sooner had they returned to the current base of operations did he find himself confronted with several other familiar faces. 

_ Well, butter me up and call me a biscuit. _

It’s a little hard to take in, all at once – smiling faces, old faces, greeting him as if he’s some long lost friend.  Mercy, straightening his serape, asking how he’s been eating.  Winston, even Reinhardt – there’s others, too, and for a breath, Jesse can’t remember  _ why _ he hadn’t wanted to regroup with these fellas.  He ducks his head, ignores the prickle of heat on the back of his neck, even allows Lena to herd him down to the cafeteria once he’s promised to stop by and fill Angela in on the past few years once he’s settled in.  She’s going to have questions about the bionic, he knows, but quite frankly, can’t bring himself to care.

“It really isn’t much yet, love, I hope you weren’t expecting anything too fancy-” Lena is apologizing, but she’s already lost her tourist.  It smells like coffee –  _ real _ coffee, not that ground up shit that’s been burnt to hell and back before someone tins it up and leaves it on a shelf for the next five years.  Jesse’s stomach is growling, but his eyes are only for the pot brewing in a lonely corner.

It’s a drip pot, but he’s willing to forgive it.  Anything’s better than the instant shit he’s been living off the past couple of months.

He hears his companion giggle behind him and pays no mind, his sigh a blissful one after he helps himself to a mug.  “The real deal.”  The cowboy hums his appreciation, arching his brow as Lena shakes her head.  “What?”

“No cream?  No sugar?” she teases, but that grin hasn’t moved an inch.  “No need to be sparse, Jesse, we’ve got plenty.”  But he only shakes his head, content with the black, and the pilot isn’t going to argue with his taste.  Instead, she hustles him along, pointing out the kitchen, the dining area.  There’s a pantry as well, though the gunslinger reasons it’s more of a blighted closet than any pantry he’s ever seen.  Not that he has any complaints.  His stomach grumbles for a second time, and the woman knocks into his side.  “Well!  Eat something!” she insists, waving a hand to the inventory at large.

He raises a brow.  “What, just…have a go at it?” he asks, brows furrowing as he glances from Lena back to the veritable cornucopia.  Doesn’t matter a like that it’s not a proper meal – he can’t remember the last time he’s had anything fresh.  Before Atlanta, he reckons.  Back in Tallahassee, before he went on that wild goose chase that turned up nothing but a dead end, but that was fried alligator, and he’s pretty sure that doesn’t count as fresh.

It’s a miracle that he catches the apple the pilot tosses at him without spilling his coffee all over himself.  Jesse polishes it once on his serape and bites, relishing the  _ snap _ of the shiny red skin.  Lena’s still talking as she leads him onwards, pointing to rooms.  She’s explaining, he really ought to be filling out a mental map, and maybe he feels a bit poorly for it, but the cowboy’s only got eyes for his apple, his apple and his mug of coffee.  It’s the simple things in life, he reasons, and once the tour is over, the young woman is delivering him to his room.

“—not much,” she’s saying as the door opens, “but you can put your own spin on it!  Oh, and there’s a bathroom.”  Lena is pointing, turning on lights, explaining something about doing his own laundry, but  _ damn _ , Jesse hasn’t seen a shower this clean in  _ weeks _ .  Hell, even the wash bin back in his safe house was scrungy compared to this, and that didn’t have  _ cockroaches _ like that place back in Nashville. 

After a moment, she notices his stare.  “Go on, then,” she urges with a giggle, one hand patting his upper arm.  “Dinner’s not for a few hours, so, check it out!  Get settled in.  But make sure you aren’t late, love, Reinhardt’s turn to make supper – he’s promised pork schnitzel and mash!  You remember how good that is, don’t you?  Won’t be much left if you don’t show up when it’s hot!”

“I read y’loud and clear, ducky.  Wouldn’t miss it.”

It’s enough for Tracer, because she gives him a playful salute before finding her way out.  Jesse gives himself a moment to shuffle around the room – it’s clean, almost  _ sterile _ , but he fancies it won’t long stay that way.  Didn’t bring much with him but the clothes on his back and the revolver in his holster, but it won’t take much to settle into the private quarters.  A few blankets on the bed, his guitar in the corner.  A box of poptarts.  His mouth is sideways as he tosses the apple core in the bin, deposits the mug on the dresser, and strips away layers of clothing caked in dust and grime.

Thankfully, it seems no one much expects the gunslinger to have brought a closet full of clothing – probably wasn’t the former agent one jump ahead of the lawman.  There were a few basics: jeans, button-downs, even a few clean pairs of socks.  He might have dwelled on the actual choice of fashion longer, but Lena had mentioned something about  _ fried pork _ , and hot damn if he was going to miss a home-cooked meal after living on lukewarm ramen and granola bars.

* * *

 

Several hours after dinner saw Jesse McCree staring at the dark ceiling, counting the individual bolts in the metal.  He’d counted them twice over, and his fingers were still itching at his sides.  It wasn’t the cigarillos – he’d had a smoke before settling into bed.  Wasn’t the mattress.  Sure, might not be much to look at, but it was more comfortable than the one he’d left behind.  Wasn’t the sheets (even if he planned on replacing them), wasn’t the room (even if felt a bit empty), wasn’t anything the gunslinger could put a name to, but there it was, sitting on his chest staring him straight between the eyes.  He was tired, but sleep wasn’t going to come.

He let another hour pass before slowly getting to his feet, digging the heels of his palms against his face.  No amount of will was going to make him any sleepier – and if he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well get something done.  Pulling on his gear, Jesse slowly jingled his way down the hall, past other rooms and closed doors.  Sleeping?  He wondered, but didn’t feel so inclined to knock.  Didn’t much fancy company, not now, not like this.

Tracer had pointed out the shooting range earlier in the day on her little tour; he’d been to Watchpoint: Gibraltar before.  It might have been a while, but the old dog hadn’t forgotten everything he learned, additions and alterations aside.  His feet would know where to go even if the woman hadn’t touted him around like a little lost pup, and sooner rather than later, the cowboy rattled his way up to the gallery.   _ Hasn’t changed a bit _ .

Mouth slanted sideways, Jesse gave pause, not entirely certain how he felt about the matter.  Didn’t matter, he supposed, wasn’t about to change it.  Rolling a shoulder, the man paced down the rows, all the way to the end, and then back one.  Never up right against the wall, one aside, lucky number seven in a group of eight.

“Athena,” he rumbled, voice feeling hoarse.

“Agent McCree,” the A.I. replied, and that lilt returned to his lips as he pressed a hand to the sensor.

_ AGENT: 3945_45 _

_ PASSWORD: | _

The cursor sat blinking at him as he paused, chewing over his lower lip.  A finger padded over the screen, and the door opened before him, revealing the range already set.  Jesse furrowed his brow as he stepped inside, fingers falling to his pistol’s grip out of sheer habit.  “Don’t recall this bein’ m’usual,” he drawled to the computer, tipping his head.

“Agent Shimada had requested this arrangement,” Athena replied immediately, and the man was only given a moment to wonder after this  _ Agent Shimada _ before said agent stepped out of the low light, not more than three yards ahead of him.  Jesse’s fingers twitched.  If he weren’t a friendly, he could have well been dead, had the other man half a mind.  He might have said as much, but never had much a chance.

“Nani?” the archer was demanding, bow still in hand as he marched over to inspect the source of his interruption.  Clearly, he’d come expecting peace.  Jesse’s mouth twitched.  He supposed he could relate.

“Howdy, partner,” he greets the man, hooking his thumbs into his belt.  He opens his mouth to say something else, but never gets the chance for it.

“I am not your partner,” this Hanzo replies automatically, thick brows furrowing as he stares up into Jesse’s face.  The man can feel his insides squirm, and for a moment, just a moment, it’s almost like Blackwatch all over again.  Shoot, but this guy has a gaze like knives.  “Also, you should not smoke inside.  There are designated places for that.”

“What?”  Jesse blinks owlishly, pulled from his thoughts.

Agent Shimada has already turned his back to the man, resuming his target practice as if never interrupted.  “You should not smoke inside,” the archer repeats, as if speaking to a particularly dense child.  His eyes never left the moving targets.  “There are designated places for that.  Leave.”

Jesse digs his teeth into cigarillo, working it back and forth.  “Whoa there, partner,” he replies gruffly.  “I reckon if I weren’t supposed t’be smokin’ inside, Winston would have told me so.”  And if not the man himself, then certainly Athena would have relayed the message.  As it were, the A.I. was staying so unhelpfully  _ silent _ .  “An’ I reckon you ain’t got no right, tryin’ t’ run me outta here like a right gump.”

The other man stares at him like he’s grown a second head.  McCree huffs noisily, raking his teeth over wet paper for a second time.  “What?” he demands unhappily, brows crinkled.  “I’m speakin’ English there, ain’t no need t’ look like ‘m spittin’ tongues.”

“Barely,” the other man sniffs, clearly not ready to give up his claim.  His stance shifts, and Jesse wonders if this so-called  _ agent _ is really itching for a fight.  There’s another twitch in his fingers.  “I am in the middle of training.  Leave.”

The cowboy’s lip curls backwards, reveal a coyote’s humorless grin.  “Who th’ hell d’ya think you are, partner, bossin’ me ‘round like that?”

“Shimada, Hanzo,” he replies sharply, as if that explains everything.  Something ticks in McCree’s mind though, sets the wheels turning.  He knows a Shimada.  Not this one, clearly, but it isn’t one of those ‘I heard of that one name that one time’.  He’s certain he does, and it comes a moment later.

“Genji,” he blurts out, because Jesse McCree has never had much of a filter between his mind and his mouth.

A storm passes over the man’s face, his expression not dissimilar from the cowboy’s.  “No,” he grunts, as if he’s been insulted.  “Genji was my brother,” he hisses softly, eyes narrowed as he resumes shooting.  The arrow sails into the robot’s head, shattering it instantly.

Was.  He’ll pursue that, later.   _ Was _ .  A right cruel thing to say, when the man was still an employed agent of Overwatch.  Sure, he was a bit – different than Hanzo might have known him, but the cowboy hardly saw how that gave the man the right.

McCree growls under his breath, chomping on the end of his cigar for a second time before stomping across the narrow room, reaching with one hand to grab the other agent, pull him around.  “I’m talkin’ t’--”

He doesn’t get the opportunity to finish his sentence.  Jesse hasn’t laid so much of a finger on the archer’s shoulder before his hand is deflected in a single, sharp movement that has pain sparking up through his wrist despite the glove.  The gunslinger bares his teeth.  “Watch it,” he snarls unhappily.  He is aware, vaguely, that this shooting lane is not his by rights – hell, he hadn’t even scheduled to reserve it.  But who does this guy think he is, really, bossing Jesse McCree around like he owns the place when he’s one of the fresh faces?  This sort of thing shouldn’t bother him, he knows it, but Jesse hasn’t seen a good night’s sleep in a long while, and he’s feeling meaner than a copperhead in this particular instance.  His fingers curl up into fists as they hang by his side.

“Do not touch me,” Hanzo sneers, bow in one hand, swift as a bullwhip as he invades Jesse’s space.  He might not wear the same snarl, might not wear fists, but the fight is there in those sharp eyes and that proud stance, sturdy and wide.  Ready.  Daring.   _ Baiting _ .

“You spoilin’ fer a fight, son?” the cowboy drawls, voicing his earlier thoughts, despite not being not entirely certain that is what  _ he  _ wants himself fwhen the door slides open.  Out of his periphery, he catches the dim glow of green and can barely withhold his groan.   _ Great.  Because two is always better than one _ .

“Hanzo.  Jesse,” the voice greets them warily, cutting a path directly between the pair of agents. 

_ Speak of the devil, an’ he shall appear, _ the gunslinger thinks dryly, and he might have said as much, had the younger Shimada brother not have spoken back up.

“Jesse.”  Genji is more firm this time, finally catching the other man’s attention.  “That is quite enough, don’t you think?”  His hand closing around Jesse’s wrist as he starts to usher the cowboy towards the door, despite the man’s obvious protest.  “I think you have done enough for the night,” he insists calmly, and not for the first time, he resents just how even the cyborg remains.  For a moment, he considers a more vocal protest.

Over the man’s shoulder, he can see Hanzo, see his mouth working as he spits venom and threats in a language the cowboy couldn’t possibly understand.  There’s plenty of things he’s considering throwing right back, but the swordsman is not leaving any room for argument as he backs the gunslinger towards the door slowly, one step at a time.  He’s being given a choice, and even Jesse’s hazy mind can realize that – he turns on his heel, six-star spurs jangling as he finds his own way out of the room and into the hall.

_ How the hell did Genji know? _

And then, a beat later,  _ Athena _ .   _ Sure ain’t in Kansas anymore _ , he thinks bitterly – there’s no use hoping that isn’t going to be reported back to Winston.  Truthfully, he can’t bring himself to care what the scientist is going to think of the scuffle, not now, not when his mind feels like the inside of a wasp’s nest.  He only spares a moment to stop in his own room, scooping up lighter and cigarillo package both, and then McCree slips back into the hallway, feet leading him for the second time that night.

He’s down the hall, up the stairs, down another flight, over, under, around, and it seems like all a blur before he’s in the open air, a quiet perch outside the walls of the Watchpoint itself.  There is a dull light upon the horizon and gulls overhead – so much for the night, he thinks grimly, boots crunching across the grey stone.  It’s more overgrown than he remembers – his wooden box is missing, too.

Jesse is forced to fold his legs, settle down on the earth with a soft grunt.  Sure ain’t as young as he used to be.  It’s a glum thought at best, and he lights the death stick sitting between his lips as he stares out into the distance, the dark blue and hazy purple skies giving way to the break of dawn.

This wasn’t how he’d planned his return to Overwatch.  If he was being completely honest with himself, he hadn’t planned a return to the organization at all – but whatever the plan was, lodged in some far recess of his mind, it hadn’t included considering the act of punching a tiny samurai in the face for killing his cyborg brother.

_ What a mess _ .

Jesse groaned, pulling his hat down over his eyes.  “Maybe you were right, Reyes,” he mutters to no one in particular, and to hear his voice out loud is enough to make the cowboy grimace.  What a wretched thought.  And all the same, the thought still lingers there, ugly and festering like a bad apple at the bottom of the barrel.  Maybe Overwatch would never be what it once was, maybe there was no place for polished pretty boys pretending to be heroes, maybe-- 

Maybe—

“Hell.  Maybe you were right too, Amari.  Shoulda stayed gone.”

The two of them, they had the right idea.  For all that he worried about lingering ghosts haunting a graveyard of memories, it seemed he was alone in that mistake.  Jesse’s mouth twisted as he inhaled, pulled the cigarillo away from his mouth to tap out the ash.  “Shoulda stayed gone."


	2. dead man's walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse opens his big mouth and makes everything worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chapter. More conflict. I really love Jesse...even if he is being less than hospitable at the moment. To those of you sticking along, I hope it does not disappoint.

It shouldn’t be a great surprise when his watch chimes quietly at him.  Jesse McCree rolls over and forcibly ignores it – he made it to base just yesterday, damn it.  Anything short of a fire could wait until he’d gotten at least a few hours of shut eye.  It’d been full on light once he’d finally crawled under the sheets and found his mind quiet enough to _sleep_ , and he was going to need until at least _noon_ if he wanted to be a fully functional human being.

Which was asking a lot of anyone, in his opinion, but kept him firmly curled up in bed.

After the second chime, the gunslinger rolled over and shoved the watch into the nightstand drawer.  It afforded him at least a few more hours of peace, and the cowboy used them well.  Certainly wasn’t enough to make up for the deficit he’d racked up lately, but Jesse rolled out of bed feeling moderately less like he wanted to start a fist fight than he had the night before.  The remaining headache was nothing a cup of coffee couldn’t fix, and the man brightened considerably when he realized there was, indeed, _real_ coffee waiting for him in the mess hall.

With a great yawn, he dressed himself.  Jeans, button down, boots, hat.  It was nice not to have to add any armor to the mix, he realized, feeling pounds lighter as he jangled down the hall.  There would be some kind of training later, undoubtedly, but it was still morning (if only barely), and Jesse could appreciate the semblance of safety these familiar walls could afford him.  It wasn’t the same as the old days, when he was headstrong and cocksure, but it certainly beat his safe house by miles and miles on end.  There was a clean shower with _hot water_ , there was _real_ coffee, and by the looks of it, someone had left him some bacon from breakfast.

 _I wonder if I can get ‘em t’buy those poptarts,_  he wondered to himself as he demolished the cold bacon.  One cup of coffee down, he poured another and turned, so lost in his own thought that he narrowly avoided slamming into someone joining him at the coffee pot.

In fact, it was giving the cowboy entirely too much credit to say _he_ avoided the collision when it was very much the other party who squirted to the side at the last moment, thankfully dodging the splash of hot coffee across his chest.

“Whoa, man!  Careful,” the stranger laughs, giving Jesse a sideways smile.  “Is that coffee black?  You know we’ve got cream in the fridge, yeah?”  Before he could get a word in edgewise, the younger man continues.  “Hey – you’re the cowboy, aren’t you?  Nice to meet you!  Lúcio, man, good to meet you.”

He offered a hand, and Jesse felt rather obliged to take it.  Tipping his hat and leaving the younger man hanging would have been terribly rude.  “Jesse McCree.  McCree’ll do fine.,” he replies with a smile, taking another sip of his coffee with a pointed smile.  Black as night and strong as hell.   _Just how Amari liked it_.  It takes him a moment to process that the younger man is still jabbering on and he shakes his thoughts – memories will be around to chase later.  He’d already got off on the wrong foot with one of Overwatch’s new agents.  There was no need to make an enemy out of another.

“How long y’been ‘round here?” he finally manages to get out – already he knows this one’s going to be a regular jabber jaw, and for some reason, it gives the man cause to smile.  God knew Overwatch could have used more positive personalities.  At least the guy’s grinning.

“A few days, I think.  Nothing like Rio, you know?”  Jesse didn’t know, hadn’t been much further south than Columbia back in Blackwatch’s glory days, but he didn’t mention.  Wasn’t like he could get a word in while Lúcio continued on, anyways.  “But I like it – I think we can make a real difference, you know?  More than any one guy on his own.”

 _Ana would like this one_ , the cowboy decides, but he nods and hums.  Has anyone told him about Ana yet?  He might have asked, but it seems the musician has got sight of the time.  All at once, that ball of energy is slipping backwards – Jesse finally realizes the guy is literally gliding – as he waves.  “Hey man, sorry, gotta jet!  I’m supposed to meet Hana down at the practice range, like, five minutes ago.  But we should totally catch up later!”

He’s barely waved a hand before the new agent’s already disappeared down the hall, and Jesse finds himself staring into the empty space with a blank expression.  Hana, he’d said.  How many new faces had Winston called in, exactly?  A question that could wait, he reckoned, and with that, the man refreshed his cup of coffee and shuffled out of the mess to explore the rest of the Watchpoint and its new (read: battered) face.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the morning dribbled into the afternoon, and McCree found himself with relative peace.  He did not run into the aggravating archer again – but some of the others managed to find him.  If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect Angela had sought him out specifically, but familiar company wasn’t unwelcome.  After Angela came Lena, and his favorite time-traveling pilot seemed to agree about the particular lack of poptart in the kitchen pantry.  She might not have any control over the shopping, but she knew who did.

“Let me see what I can do,” she’s murmuring through a giggle.  Just like old times, she doesn’t have to say.  Just like old times, except its pastries they’re plotting to get their hands on, not Jack Morrison’s favorite cape.  (The question still stands, Jesse thinks, _who in their right mind wears a cape_ ?)  The memory is tinged with a pang of hurt.   _Jack Morrison_ isn’t a name that comes up often.  Doesn’t ring hollow like _Ana Amari_ or worse, _Gabriel Reyes_ , but he’s eager enough to let it go.

“You let me know, little lady.  Be happy t’ help.”  He can’t help his wink as he polishes off the last of his coffee.  “There ‘re jes’ some things a man can’t go without!”

Lena is laughing again, bumping into his side with a shoulder.  “You wouldn’t _need_ pastries if you just put a little sugar in your coffee!”

He’s about to accuse her as the second person to make fun of his coffee when his watch pings again, a little red text scrolling across the dark screen.  She leans over, eyebrows high.  “Oh, looks like someone wants your attention something fierce.  Best not keep them waiting, love!”  When the cowboy didn’t answer immediately, she gives him another little nudge.  “Well, go one!  You do know how to get to the conference still, don’t you!  It hasn’t been _that_ long – are you getting that old?”

“Oh, _hush_ , you.”  But the constant badgering is enough to put the smile back on his face and unstick his boots.  Lena scampers off with a wink and a blown kiss, leaving Jesse to shuffle his way through the old halls and find the old interrogation room.  Well.   _One_ of them.  But this one was often favored by Blackwatch (Reyes, specifically, the back of his mind reminded him sourly), and he reckoned he could find this room even if he’d gone right blind.

Now, who else would call him down there was another question entirely.

Opening the door revealed Winston waiting for him, and for a moment, the cowboy could only blink owlishly.  How had he--?

“The records weren’t lost when the Swiss Headquarters went down,” Winston rumbled as he adjusted his glasses, as if he’d read Jesse’s mind simply by looking over his face.  When the gunslinger remained silent, he motioned with a large hand for the man to step inside.  The door clicked shut behind them, and the scientist cleared his throat.  “I thought you might be more comfortable in a familiar room – but never mind that,” he muttered, shaking a head.  “Athena tells me there was an _incident_ down in the shooting ranges last night?”

His expression made it very clear this was not a question.  The cowboy twisted his mouth, staring at the wall briefly as if Athena could see his displeasure.   _Tattle-tale._ But Winston kept staring at him expectantly, and he hooked his thumbs into his pockets, huffing through his nose.  “Might have been, yeah,” Jesse grumbled, raising a brow as he stared back.  This wasn’t Commander Reyes he was answering to – or Strike-Commander Morrison, either.  It was Winston.  (Winston, who nearly had him jumping out of skin when he’d first seen the gorilla at the base.   _“I’ve seen the videos!”_ And Reyes calling him something rude and trying to explain the gorillas place in Overwatch.  That Winston.)

His expression was wry at best, perhaps a bit more casual than it should have been.

“I also see there is nothing wrong with your watch – is there any reason you couldn’t answer me this morning?”

To his credit, Jesse didn’t flinch.   _Getting better at this_ , he mused to himself, even now.  Reyes would be proud.  “Naw.  Finally fell asleep, so figured I better take advantage a’ th’ situation.”  He raised his brows right back at Overwatch’s current leader, chewing on his lower lip and wishing for a cigarillo.

Winston paused, leveling Jesse with what he assumed to be a disappointed look before pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.  “Agent McCree,” he sighed, shaking his head, “I understand you have been on your own for many years now.”

 _Understatement_.  The cowboy narrows his eyes, lifting his chin a degree.  Either Winston does not notice, or he does not care, continuing his little speech.

“But I trust you know well that starting fights with other agents, with _newly recruited agents_ , is not appropriate behavior, especially befitting those previously employed by Overwatch during its heyday, and--”

“Newly recruited murderers, y’mean?” Jesse drawls, rocking back on his heels.  Is Winston really going to dig into him over an argument with the guy who tried to kill Genji?   _Their_ Genji?

Winston pressed a hand to his face, briefly composing himself.  “I thought that might come up.  Hanzo-san did not actually _kill_ Genji--”

“Not fer lack a’ tryin’!”

This time, the gorilla presented him with a much fiercer look.  “ _Enough_ , McCree.  He is here, he is employed as an agent of Overwatch, and he is going to be _treated like such._ ”

“An’ we what, jes’ ferget everythin’?  No worries now, yer an agent now, no--”

“I said that was _enough_ !”  This time, the room shook just a little with the sheer volume of Wisnton’s voice.  The cowboy’s jaw snapped shut with an audible _click_ , whisky eyes a little wider as he gave brief pause.  “Yes, McCree – we are going to give him a _chance_ .  Like Genji.  Like Lúcio.  Like _you_.”

Finally, Jesse kept his mouth shut, brows furrows at the point.  It had been a long time – but when the Commander of Blackwatch had plucked him off Route 66 all those years ago, he wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen back in the day.  He exhaled sharply through his nose.  “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, grinding his teeth slowly.  “Y’got it, Win--”  Brows furrowed in brief confusion.  “Boss.”

Brows furrowed deeper, creases forming across the cowboy’s face.  Tasted wrong.

“That it?” he demanded, eager to escape the uncomfortable situation.

“That’s it,” Winston sighed, his own expression unreadable.  “McCree, if you need anything--”

“‘m fine,” he snapped, and with that, he was out the door, his good mood suitably dashed.  That it is almost lunchtime doesn’t seem to register, not even when Angela stops him in the hallway with a gentle hand on his arm.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright, Jesse?” she asks softly, fingers warm on his bare forearm.

He inclines his head, fingers tipping his hat.  It is a perfect place to hide, even as the blond tries to peer underneath the brim.  “‘m fine, Angie.  I promise.”

She huffed softly, squeezing his arm gently as her thumb ran across his tan skin in soothing circles.  “Is this ‘I’m frustrated but I’m going to be fine, fine’ or is this ‘I’m not fine and I’m not going to eat for the next three weeks, fine’?” she asked, and Jesse could have cursed the woman.  Years later, and her mind was still a steel trap.  Didn’t forget a damn thing.

“Yer never gonna let that go, are ya?” he sighed, expression much more sheepish than it’d been moments before.  “Tha’ was different.”  First time he’d been on a Blackwatch mission that had gone bad, really, horribly _bad_.  Only nineteen, and the years with the Deadlock Gang behind him, but he’d never seen that much blood or gore in his entire life.  It’d been a hard thing to stomach.  Still was, really.  “I promise, buttercup.  It’s jes’ th’ first.  ‘sides, I only woke up an hour ‘er so ago – ain’t ready for lunch jes’ yet.”

The confession earns him a pinch, but at least the doctor’s warm smile has replaced that unbearable concern.  “Jesse!  You know better than that.  I might expect it from Hana or Lúcio, but,” she shook her head as she stepped back, giving her old friend a playful swat.  “Try to get on a proper sleeping schedule, would you?  Everything else will be much easier after that.”

“You got it, doc.”  Much easier recommendation to take on board, he reckoned, not like quitting the habit as old as his hat.  “Now, you skedaddle.  Wouldn’ wantcha t’ miss lunch on my account,” Jesse hummed, offering the woman a wink.

She only laughed, but Angela took the opportunity and released Jesse to his business, floating down the hallway towards the sound of loud voices and clanking dishware.

 

* * *

 

What he _really_ needed, he mused, several hours later, was some peace, quiet, and some quality time with Peacekeeper.  Jesse probably didn’t need his armor to have a little target practice, but there was something _right_ about the weight settled against his chest, the jingle of his spurs, and the familiar bite of his belt as he tapped his agent code into the small computer.

A moment later, the door slid open.  He was halfway to requesting a target formation from Athena when he realized there was already someone using the alley.  His jaw snapped shut, teeth clicking – he was halfway to a migraine already, and it wasn’t even dinner time yet – before he snorted.

“Ye’ve _got_ t’be kiddin’ me!” he huffed, marching further down the lane.  “Didn’t you get yer fill last night, Robin Hood?”

When he did not get an answer, the cowboy snarled, teeth digging into the end of his cigarillo.  One hand reached to grab the archer, demand an answer – and in a mirror image of last night, Hanzo is in his space, teeth bared as the hand is deflected effortlessly.  “Do _not_ touch me _,”_ he hissed, looking all the world like a rattler poised to strike.  “You have forgotten so soon.”

“Reckon I jes’ don’t care,” McCree snarls in response, fighting the urge to blow a puff of smoke in the man’s face.  Hell, but isn’t he a little thing?  Smaller than Genji even.  His eyes remind the cowboy of thunderstorms, grey and sharp and something dangerous snapping just behind the veil, and it’s enough for him to remember he’s _angry_ with the damn archer, not admiring his damn eyes.  “Ever occur t’you this range is taken?”

“You did not sign it out,” Hanzo replied promptly, brows furrowing.  “So it was not taken until I signed in.  You may leave.”

“Don’t think I will.”

“Leave,” the elder Shimada insists.  Jesse knows that tone well enough, heard it countless times in other voices, but his boots seem rooted to the spot.  He’s not about to be cowed by some short-tempered shrimp and his _bow_.  Who the hell brought a bow to deal with terrorist organizations, anyways?

“Naw, I got a better idea,” he rumbles, suddenly feeling sly.  His eyes gleam.  “Six targets.  Best round gets th’ range, loser leaves.”

For a moment, it seems like the man is actually considering the offer.  “When I win, you will go?” he asks, as if he doesn’t entirely believe the terms Jesse is offering.  “No questions.”

“Not a one,” the cowboy replies, suppressing the urge to smirk.  Clearly, he’s never seen a quick draw at work.  “I’ll even letcha go first, Hawkeye.”  Like the gentleman he was, even.

Hanzo shakes his head.  “You are the challenger.  You will go first.”

Not one to argue over inane things, Jesse shrugs.  Doesn’t matter much to him.  So he calls to Athena and she sets their range within second.  The cowboy steps up to the line, ignores the archer looking nearby.  No more than a moment after the green light flashes, he pulls his iron from his hip.  There are six bright flashes, six cracks through the air, and there are six holes put neatly into the center of the bots.  His lips curled into a grin as he holstered Peacekeeper, a certain swagger in his step as he turned, tipping his hat to the archer.  “Let’s see ya bet _that_ , darlin’,” he purred, sauntering back to give his opponent some room.

Hanzo spared him no more than a raised eyebrow – confident still.  Jesse snorted softly to himself, but said nothing as Athena reset the targets.  If nothing else, the new agent hadn’t interfered whilst he took his shots, and he’d not be accused of trying to cheat.  Thumbs hooked into belt loops, he rocked back, teeth grinding into the edge of his cigarillo as he waited.  The light flashed green, and Hanzo was off, faster than he’d ever seen anyone fire a bow in all his life.  Admittedly, there hadn’t been a lot of arrows flying back in the day, even if he grew up in the Wild West, but it was still an impressive feat.  Not fast enough, though.

Jesse grinned.  “Y’tried,” he hummed, faltering slightly when Hanzo furrowed his brow.  “What?”  He pointed to the timer Athena presented.  “She ain’t lyin’, darlin’.”

“Six headshots,” Hanzo replied slowly, as if he were explaining a basic concept to a particularly dim child, “will always do better than six shots to the torso.  Generally, a combatant wears armor.”  He made a brief motion in the cowboy’s general direction.  “The match is mine.”

The reasoning had the man pausing, brows furrowed as he glanced back at the sparking bots.  True to his word, the new agent had knocked the head clean off each of them – and if he were to be honest, he knew well that was the only way to defeat an omnic.  But hell, that was a technicality!  “I think yer bein’ a bit persnickety,” he grumbled, rounding about on the smaller man.

The archer huffed.  “I believe you said no arguments, Agent McCree.  Am I to understand you are not a man of your word?”

Jesse was forced to bite his tongue, fingers digging into his chaps as he worked his jaw.  A _technicality_.  But he couldn’t argue it, not really, especially when he was the one who’d laid out such vague rules.  He should have known that’d leave room for interpretation.  But lord help him if he let one troublesome ninja ruin his ability to keep his word, so he held his breath, and tipped his head.  “I’ll be seein’ you, Agent Shimada,” he groused, not above blowing a particularly large cloud of smoke on his way out.  It was amazing he managed to remember to sign off the lane in that state, stalking back to his room.

 

* * *

 

It was amazing, really, that he hadn’t managed to run into a single other person, but Jesse was not about to question the small miracle.  The gulls crooned softly overhead as he peered outwards into the ocean, orange sky reflected on the shimmering surface.  On the stones below, the waves crashed gently – maybe on any other night, he might have allowed himself to relax out here.  But here he was, hat low over his face, smoke billowing from his lips as he rumbled to himself.  Peacekeeper’s comforting weight was heavy at his side, and after a moment, he flicked his fourth stub off the edge, watching it roll and disappear into the rocks below.

This was the place Reyes would often find him, and if not Reyes.  Not exactly a good hiding spot, when your commanding officer looked here first.  Still, he’d never been much inclined to change – not even now, when none of his ghosts would show up to join him.

Not that Gabriel would have been particularly good company, he reckoned.  The man was one hell of a mentor, did his best to keep Jesse away from the Strike-Commander, but he had a habit of feeding the anger with some of his own, especially towards the end there.  Jesse sighed softly, fishing the last smoke out of his pack – he’d have to run to town tomorrow, maybe store up a bit better – before lighting it up.

Reyes would always share a smoke with him, though.  The man didn’t care much for the habit himself, but at least he knew when to share.

What would he say now, anyways?

 _The hell are you wasting your time on this Robin Hood,_ vaquero _?  Don’t you have your aim to work on?  Seen you haven’t run the course in a week, you’re getting lazy on me, aren’t you_?

His mouth was set in a grim line as the wince crept in.  He hadn’t run that course since he’d made it back to Gibraltar.  Hadn’t done any running well before then, either – but he reckoned that trying to keep your head on your shoulders counted as a valid excuse.  Not that Reyes would be inclined to agree.

Nor Amari, for that matter.  She’d kept an eye on him, too.

Admittedly, he doubted this was the time she’d chose to bring an issue up.  Her advice, solicited or otherwise, was rarely as gung ho as his commander’s.   _You know better_ , she’d probably tell him, _letting yourself get all worked up over the new agent.  How long do you think he will last, really?_

Blackwatch had not been particularly kind to its recruits – there was a reason it remained a particularly small unit, and it wasn’t for covert ability and maneuverability alone.  Jesse shook his head, choosing not to dwell on childish jealousy or those voices anymore.  That he could still hear them at all was alarming in its own right.  Ghosts, they were his ghosts, still carrying them around on his shoulders like they might step down and come back to life.

Something gnawed at the inside of his chest, remembering clearly the last time he’d seen Gabriel, storming from the Strike-Commander’s office.  Not a strange sight, not by any means, but he’d kept his mouth shut.  Hadn’t asked.  Let the man storm by, into his dark little office to spend hours on his own.  Wondered now, maybe, if he could have changed things.

Wondered still if what they said was _true_ about the Swiss Headquarters, but how _could_ it be when Gabriel Reyes had given so much to Overwatch?  How could it be?

Only one man had the answer.

And then there was Ana, shoving a satchel in his hands and kissing his cheek as if he were a child being sent off to school.  If only it were so mundane.  He hadn’t seen her after that, even if he tried to get in touch after he disappeared off of Blackwatch’s radar without a word.  Wanted to know what happened to Reyes.  To Overwatch.  It was only with a bit of digging that he learned sometime later that the sniper had been killed in action, body not recovered.  Too dangerous.  He’d not known, hadn’t been to her funeral.  Hadn’t ever thanked her, for her help. For keeping an eye out when his commanding officer didn't.

Jesse hummed around his cigarillo, tapping the ash onto the rock.  It was a dangerous job, wasn’t it?  There was no guarantee any of them would live to see tomorrow, not when Winston had recalled them to deal with some civil unrest in Middle of Nowhere, Siberia.  How many more regrets was he willing to carry around his shoulders?

“Not worth it,” he rumbled to himself.  It was just a lane, wasn’t it?  He could find another.  Or…reserve it.  The thought made him shudder, and he shook his head, breathing in sharply.  Smoke billowed from his nostrils on the exhale.  “Not worth it.”

Tomorrow, he’d find that archer. (Probably on the same damn practice range.)  See if he couldn’t mend the fence, some.  No reason not to.  He’d won the match, after all.  Jesse McCree was not a sore loser.

Ana would be proud, he reckoned.  Reyes?  Well, that remained questionable.  But the idea of Reyes’ disapproval had never stopped him before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright -- the goal is to update at least once a week. I post the chapter after the following is complete...so yeah, chapter three is already finished. Writing a chapter ahead keeps me working, and helps me prevent contradictions. So I hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: Already found some typos here and there...so forgive any you find. I fix 'em as I spot them. <3


	3. gone are the days of virtue and honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't Blackwatch, Jesse McCree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nnn i am sorry this is late-ish. please take a grumpy jesse and my apologies. [puddles]

He’s stayed up too late for the second night in a row – Angela’s playful scolding rings in his skull as the man roots around the stocked medicine cabinet in his bathroom.  Nothing terribly exciting, but aspirin is among the few over-the-counters and Jesse pops the cap, swallowing two dry in an effort to fight the headache at the base of his skull threatening to creep further.  The second thing to dose himself with is coffee, and plenty of it – it’s as the cowboy leans quietly against a counter that he realized he hadn’t joined in a single communal meal since he’d arrived at the Watchpoint.  Brows furrowed slightly, and he huffed, metal fingers tapping against his mug.

Wasn’t likely he’d feel much like lunch, he reasoned, wishing for those Poptarts that Lena had mentioned, but he reckoned it wouldn’t kill him to make an attempt to actually join the group for dinner.  There were new faces, after all.  Lúcio, who he’d met only briefly.  There was someone named Hana – and of course, Hanzo.  The gunslinger wrinkled his nose, rubbing the bristle of his upper lip against his nose as he hummed thoughtfully.  Last night, he had promised to do a few things, hadn’t he?

Make a run into town – wasn’t going to last the entire day if he didn’t get some new cigarillos, and apologize to the archer for the argument in the shooting range.  Jesse snorted softly.  First things first.  Go into town was vital.  Besides, he reasoned with himself, he’d be in a more benevolent mood after taking care of his fix.  It dawns on him then he’ll be able to get those pastries he’s been after as well, and that’s all it takes.  His mind is made.

Jesse returns to his room only for a moment before knocking on Lena’s door – she had promised to help, after all.  Seemed rude to leave her out.  But the Brit wasn’t inside, leaving the man in a bit of a conundrum.  Did he call her?  Ask Athena to find her?

“Naw,” he decided a moment later.  It had bothered the hell out of him when the AI had alerted Genji to the argument between himself and the ninja’s brother – wouldn’t do to turn hypocrite and start tracking people like that himself.  He’d pick up something for the woman.  That’d do, wouldn’t it?

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse managed to waste most of the day between wheedling Winston into lending him a truck to leave base, and convincing the scientist that he wasn’t about to blow anyone’s cover.  At the very least, he agreed not to wear the bright red – needing supplies for the base itself, the makeshift leader had relented.  Of course, the cowboy had taken his sweet time as far as wandering around the town went.  It wasn’t much a town anymore now, was it?  The city had really come to life since the last he’d saw it, and getting everything on the list wasn’t nearly as difficult as it used to be.

Not that it stopped him from poking around, not really.  The map in his head had been rendered useless, and it was going to take some adventuring to build it back up again.

Returning sometime in the mid-afternoon, Lúcio and Lena both appeared mysteriously when he arrived to help him bring things in, put them away.

“Winston sent ya, did he?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the woman.  “Didn’ trust my ability t’ unpack?”

When she laughed, he knew it was true – and Jesse shared the chuckle, knowing well he’d never been valued for his organizational skills.  “Not at all, luv,” she replied merrily, carefully pulling older boxes to the front so they wouldn’t get lost.  “There’s a system here – how he knows what we need, and when!  Wouldn’t do for you to toss things around.”

“Yeah, man – he’s pretty particular on that one,” Lúcio added, poking his head into the pantry.  They’d assigned the musician to washing the produce before putting everything in its place, but it seemed he’d gotten his task finished much more quickly.

Jesse quirked an eyebrow as he continued to hand Lena things (it seemed he was only useful as the labor – fine by him, if it meant he didn’t have to figure out where it all went).  “Y’sure y’got everythin’ clean there, partner?” he drawled.

“Shoot, you’re like--  You’re like an actual cowboy, aren’t you?”  It wasn’t really a question as much as it was a revelation, Lúcio rolling into the pantry to tug on the man’s hat.  “The real deal.  Like John Wayne or Clint Eastwood or Steve McQueen or something!”

“Y’ know who Steve McQueen is?”  Jesse blinked, suddenly much more interested in the new agent.  Lena whacked his shoulder as he paused in his task – even as he worked, he kept his attention on the newcomer now.  “Not many folk recognize that name much.”

“The Magnificent Seven is like, a classic.  A _classic_ classic,” Lúcio implied, arms across his chest, as if insulted the gunslinger was questioning his taste in movies.  Which, while it could be considered eclectic at best, the man liked to think he had a broad range of interests.  Made it easier to relate to people, you know?

“Well, I’ll be,” the cowboy replied, a small smile spreading across his lips.  “Reckon yer alright.”  Another whack, before he could continue.  “Oi!  Hold yer horses, lil’ lady – there’s nothin’ left.”  He held up the empty back as if it were proof – or maybe a shield from Lena’s impatience.

Satisfied, she makes to leave, and suddenly he remembers his secondary goal for the day.  “Either of y’all know where I might find Hanzo?”

Lúcio just shakes his head with a shrug.  “Sorry, man.  Seems to be busy during the day – he usually shows up in time for dinner, though!”

Lena narrows her eyes a fraction and Jesse tries not to flinch – he’d forgotten how friendly she was with Winston.  Likely she knew what all had gone down the past day (or two, if Athena was still tattling on him).  “‘fraid not, luv,” she answered after a brief pause.  “He usually keeps to himself.  You might try Genji, though.”

The cowboy blows a gusty sigh through his nose, and tipped his hat to the pair of younger agents.  “Thank ya anyhow,” he rumbles, mouth twisted in a wry grin.  “Suppose I have a bit a’ searchin’ t’ do, then.”

Thankfully, no one questioned it – once the keys were returned to Winston, Jesse was free to wander down to the shooting range.  Punching in his code to his usual aisle, he found--  Nothing.  He couldn’t help the snort.  “A’course.  When ‘m _tryin’_ t’ find ya, y’go all ghost on me,” he grumbled to himself, peering around before signing out a moment later.  That had been his only idea; in fact, he’d been counting on it, really.  That was where he kept running into the archer, after all.  It seemed he would have to rely on Lena’s advice after all, and search out the younger of the Shimada brothers.

At least they’d worked together in the past, the cowboy relayed to himself.  Genji was more predictable than the enigma that was his brother, and at his third location, he found the cyborg meditating in his personal room.  The knock was answered quickly.

“Come in, my friend,” the slightly stilted voice greeted him.  “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, well,” Jesse replied, reaching up to fiddle with the cigarillo between his teeth.  “Come t’ask you a favor, I reckon.”

“Oh?” the ninja asked, curiosity piqued.  “And what is it?”

 _So generous_ , Jesse thought, and it was so hard not to be suspicious.  He had no reason to mistrust Genji – the kid had been one of the closest friends he’d had back in the good old days, though they’d fallen out of touch in the years that followed.  “Well, see, yer brother an’ I got off on th’ wrong foot, and--”  He paused there, brow furrowing as his gaze jerked up, peering at the ninja’s face -- often, he removed the expressionless visor in the sanctity of Overwatch’s bases.  “Genji, y’ain’t mad at him?  Not even a little?”

A soft sigh, more like a quiet hiss.  “I had a feeling this might come up.”  The cowboy had always listened to him vent, in the past – he never seemed to take such a thing well.  “I have forgiven my brother, Jesse.  Hanzo has suffered enough for what he has done, he--”

“ _He_ suffered?  Damnit, Genji, it wasn’ like y’all had a lil’ fallin’ out, he tried t’ _kill you_!”

“I am aware of what Hanzo attempted,” the cyborg replied patiently, seemingly unruffled by the cowboy’s interruption.  “But it has been a long time.  I believe there is hope for him yet, Jesse.  No one is a truly hopeless case.   _I_ was not the picture of good behavior, nor good manners, when I first joined Overwatch as an agent.”  A short pause.  “I imagine your Commander would have said much the same about you, yes?”

A deep crease formed between Jesse’s brows; he fought the urge to bite right through the end of his cigarillo.  “Reckon he would, yeah.  In no uncertain terms.”

Another soft hiss from Genji – idly, the man wondered if the cyborg was smiling beneath that mask.  “You see?  Why should we not offer Hanzo the same opportunity?”

“Well, I sure ain’t guilty of _fratricide_ ,” the gunslinger began to mumble under his breath.

“I have told you before, and I will tell you again; Hanzo has suffered greatly for what he has done.  You do not understand how we were _raised_ , Jesse.”  A pause.  “If not for his sake, then for mine.  I do not wish to see my brother and my friend fighting.”

 _A reasonable request_ , Jesse supposed, though he had nothing in response.

“Holding onto anger is like drinking a poison and expecting the other man to die.  You are hurting yourself.”

And though Jesse reckoned that his friend was worried for the archer’s well-being in addition to his own, he sighed, shoulders slumping as he resigned himself.  “Suppose when you put it like that, makes an awful lot of sense,” he grumbled, not much appreciating the lesson.  “Zenyatta teach you that?”

“Yes!” Genji replied, his voice considerably lighter than it was moments ago.  “One of many things.  If you would like to speak to him, I am sure he would--”

“Ah, maybe later,” the older man replied quickly, holding up a hand.  “I did come find ya with th’ intention of apologizin’ fer th’ way things went in th’ shootin’ gallery th’ other night.  Couldn’t actually find him meself – so I was hopin’ y’might know where yer brother is this time of day?”

“Ah, yes!” the ninja replied, nodding brightly.  “I cannot say for certain, as this is all very new for him, but I have found he favors the cliffs on the north side of the base when I cannot find him elsewhere.  It is very quiet there.”

Not too far from his own hideout, then.   _Great minds?_ he wondered with a wry smile, but no, he was not quite willing to give Hanzo that much credit just yet.  So instead he turned to the younger man, clapped a hand over his shoulder.  “Thank ya kindly, Genji.  ‘ll head over there jes’ now, I think.”

The route he took was a bit serendipitous, and even then, Jesse hadn’t quite gathered all of this thoughts by the time the sea breeze hit him.  He inhaled deeply, and he might have even smiled at the calming scent had he not realized it was a wall of red rock that greeted him.  Squinting, Jesse shielded his eyes as he glanced upwards.  “Y’didn’ mention I had t’be a damn ninja t’get up there,” he grumbled to himself, eying the rock face.  There was no way he was climbing that high – wasn’t as young as he used to be, and even if he was!  He hadn’t done a whole lot of climbing even then.

Before he could develop a way to tackle the problem, a head poked over the edge of the stone.  Dark brows furrow almost immediately, and Jesse isn’t certain if he’s ever seen such a sour look.  But then, he remembers a beat later, he used to work with Gabriel Reyes – he’s lived with far worse.

“What do you want?”  The cold demand startled him right out of his thoughts.

“Well, hello t’ya too,” Jesse grumbled, folding his arms over his chest plate as he squinted upwards.  “Was lookin’ fer ya.”

“What do you _want_?” Hanzo demanded a second time, clearly not in the mood to be patient.  But when was he ever?

The cowboy snorted through his nose.  Why did he think this was a good idea, again?  “Well, partner, reckon we rather got off on th’ wrong foot back there in th’ target practice.  Was thinkin’ maybe we oughta start again, wasn’t real polite a’ me to-”

“No, it was not,” Hanzo replied briskly, disappearing back into his perch.  “I do not wish to discuss the matter any further.”

Jesse bristled, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling upwards.  “Hey now!  I am tryin’ t’ ‘pologize t’ya down here – least y’could do is _listen_ ,” he groused, volume quickly rising.

“You are not trying to apologize,” the archer replied sharply, “you are trying to pretend it did not happen.  I am not interested.”

“W-What!?” Jesse sputtered, teeth clicking together.  “Th’ hell is wrong with ya?  Whaddya expect me t’do, grovel at yer tiny feet?”  The snarl above and the reemergence of Hanzo’s face indicated he’d hit a mark.  “Now, listen here, Katniss, y’ain’t got no reason t’-”

“Leave,” Hanzo growled, flashing his teeth.  The cowboy was silenced briefly, catching a glimpse of the sharpest canine teeth he’d ever seen.  What the hell?  But Hanzo’s voice brooked no argument, and it sent a shiver up Jesse’s spine.  “ _Leave_.  I will not ask you again.”

“Y’know what?   _Fine_ ,” Jesse huffed, tossing his hands in the air before wheeling about.  “Y’wanna sit up there an’ be petty, tha’s fine by me.”   _Damn ninjas an’ their damn frosty ninja brothers,_ he cursed silently to himself, not sparing Hanzo so much as a second glance as he stormed away from the cliff face to make his way back inside.

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse hadn’t been in his room more than three minutes when something chimed gently, a brief warning before Athena’s voice filled the small space.  “All agents are to report to the briefing room immediately,” the voice instructed him – or them, he supposed, given the message as not personalized.  With a sigh, the cowboy reached for his packet, stuck a cigarillo between his lips and lit up.  Oh, he certainly wasn’t ready to deal with Elsa and Anna again, here, but he had even less of a desire to directly disobey Winston’s orders after their earlier _conversation_.

The quick smoke would have to do.

By the time he joined the others, he found half the seats filled in.  Jesse settled comfortably next to Angela there, ignoring her frown from underneath his hat.  At least he wasn’t blowing smoke, huh?

Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long – the others seemed to be of a similar mind to Jesse, and within minutes, the room is full with the low murmur of agents talking among themselves.  The air seems to jitter with excitement; Winston wouldn’t have called them back just for kicks and giggles.

A moment later, the interim leader clears his voice, and it’s enough to hush the others.  Briefly, Jesse half-expected the primate to start going around the table as they all introduce themselves – but this isn’t third grade, and instead breaks into his explanation for the recall without any further ado.  Athena helps without a request, illustrating concerns with relevant news reels – and suddenly the cowboy realizes he hasn’t been listening in.

“—the current _unrest_ in Siberia has uncovered some Talon activity in what was believed to be abandoned, uninhabitable areas.  One of the explosions revealed what is believed to be a safe house – collecting pulse weapons to distribute elsewhere.”  A murmur ripples through the group, and Winston allows them a moment before pressing onwards.  “These reports are unconfirmed.  So we are sending out two small teams to verifying this information.”

Jesse shifted in his seat, suddenly considerably more interested in the debriefing.  His finger twitched.  Something to _do_ , something to keep his mind busy.  The cowboy glanced ahead, trying to catch Winston’s eye.

He didn’t seem to get the mental messages as he continued onwards.  “We will send one team in to verify the truth in these _rumors_.  Lena, Genji, Jesse, and Lúcio, you will be our team on the ground.”  Ignoring the shuffle of members, as well as the sharp look Hanzo cast across the table, having finally looking up from his handheld game, Winston pressed on.  “You will leave at 0600 in the morning – upon arrival to the air base, you will be met by Zarya, who has been looking into this own her own.

Mention of the body builder brought a small grin to Jesse’s face – such fondness, however, was short-lived.

Before Jesse could so much as open his mouth to speak, Hanzo had already leaned forward, Nintendo temporarily set to the side.  His dark brows furrowed.  “I wish to work with Genji,” he said, clearly considering Winston’s assignment more of a suggestion than anything.

“It is alright,” Genji was trying to insist, but his soft assurance was lost as their leader shook his head.

“That wasn’t a request,” Winston rumbled, leaning forward across the table.  “Genji is a very capable agent and a reconnaissance mission does not require a sniper.  It doesn’t require any engagement at all.”

“I reckon ‘ve been doin’ this long enough I don’ need a sniper, neither,” McCree rumbled, a cloud of smoke billowing from his chapped lips.  “We all have.”  Well, except Lúcio, but the gunslinger was willing to give the fresh face the benefit of the doubt.

By now, the chaos had spread, for Hanzo too was slowly furrowing his brow as if he’d better make his point.  Genji, at the very least, he understood – how he moved, how he was trained.  He knew it better than anyone, really, certainly better than at least one of these other agents.   “I do not see why _the cowman_ is more a more appropriate choice,” he hissed evenly, and for a moment, McCree wanted nothing more than to knock that stern expression off the archer’s face.  Even when angry, the man managed to look poised, _regal_ even, and no one had the right to do that, especially not spitting venom like a damn diamondback.  (Those rattlers were pretty, too, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t strike the moment you looked away.)

“I reckon ‘cos I ain’t tried t’ _kill Genji_ before,” McCree sneered, ignoring the elbow Angela threw into his side.  “Who knows what yer gonna do all on yer own, huh?”

“McCree, you--!”

“That’s hardly appropriate and--!”

There was a chorus of protest, but whisky brown eyes were locked on the archer as he looked over and bared his teeth; briefly, Jesse considered this a mark of success.   _Finally_ , broke that stupid, perfect mask of his.   _Acknowledgement._ There was a man underneath, somewhere.  “You know _nothing_ of what happened,” he snarled, flashing sharp canines in a non-verbal threat.

The cowboy found himself about to get to his feet when Winston slammed his clipboard against the table, the following _CRACK_ echoing in the small room.  The result, at least, was silence, all eyes falling to the scientist.  “That is _enough_ ,” he rumbled, eyes falling to the protestors in particular.  “Jesse – I do _not_ want to discuss this with you _again_.”

Eyes shifted to the older agent, and he shuffled, touching the brim of his hat as he exhaled.  “Hnn,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring the way the back of his neck prickled.  He would not look sheepish.  He would _not_.

A beat of silence, and the archer gave a small huff.  “I understand,” Hanzo murmured, and Jesse resisted the urge to punch him in that flawless face for the second time, that cool so quickly restored.  As if nothing happened.  As if Jesse wasn’t worth his time, his anger at all.

And, to top it all off – Genji offered his brother a smile.  An actual _smile_ .  And, yes, he often went without the visor in base if only because he couldn’t elsewhere, but that was warm, and _genuine_ , and for _Hanzo_.

When the cowboy didn’t reply immediately, Winston narrowed his eyes.  “McCree?”

“I heard ya,” the man huffed, biting down on his lower lip.  “Droppin’ it.  Got it.”

Forced peace had to be better than the constant edge that came with internal warfare.  (Maybe _that_ was why Gabriel had got so damn edgy towards the end.  God, since when had he started to understand _Gabe_ ?)  Eyes slid sideways to eyeball the newer agent, but Winston was already moving on with other, less pressing matters.  Maintenance for the Watchpoint.  Possibilities of maintaining other bases.  Introducing the new agents.  (Hanzo, Lúcio, Hana – and others he’d reached out to?  Wasn’t this enough?  And that 76 guy, didn’t even have a _name_.)

_Why didn’t anyone else care about this problem agent?_

By the time the meeting was adjourned, it was all Jesse could do not to loll off.

Jesse lingered as members departed, having no desire to accidentally run into either of the Shimada brothers.  Instead, he was accosted by Angela, the doctor looping her arm around Jesse’s prosthetic as she began to lead him down the hallway.

“Jesse McCree,” she sighed, “that really wasn’t very nice at all.”

He snorted, glancing across his shoulder at the woman.  “Yeah?  Neither is killin’ yer own brother.”  At the raised eyebrow, he shrugged.  “ _What?_  Erryone’s thinkin’ it.  I jes’ got th’ steel t’say as much.”

The blond sighed.  “Did it ever occur to you that they are willing to give him another chance?  How many people have you killed, Jesse?”

“Well--”

“Enough, wouldn’t you say?  Why can’t you give him the same opportunity Gabriel gave you?”

The name sent a cold tingle up the gunslinger’s spine – he hadn’t heard it spoken out loud in what felt like _ages_ , even if it seemed like man’s voice lingered in the back of his mind half of the time.  Swallowing around the knot in his throat, he gave the woman a sideways look.  “I _grew up_ , Angie.  This ain’t Blackwatch, it’s--”

“Exactly.  This isn’t Blackwatch.  We are better than that.”  Jesse bristled, but the doctor didn’t seem to notice.  “Hanzo is here to redeem himself, just like you are.  Whatever his other motivations, those are his own.  Whatever his conditions are, that is between himself and Winston.  If _Genji_ is willing to work with him, why aren’t you?”

Jesse felt his shoulders slump as he sighed, giving his head a slow shake as the vindication started to drain out of him.  He had no real answer – anger on the ninja’s behalf, mainly.  Uncertainty, maybe.  He had none of this Zen the younger agent had learned in their years apart, but spoken out loud…it did seem a bit foolish to keep stoking the fires of his grudge when the injured party wasn’t even carrying a torch.  Eventually, he settled on a small, “I dunno, Angie.”

“So you will work with him when you come back from Siberia, yes?  Leave this nonsense behind?”

“Y’know I always leave that drama bullshit out of th’ field.”  He frowned, brows only furrowing deeper as she laughed, patting his bicep as she did.  “Hey, now--”

“I’m glad to hear it!” Angela hummed, willing to take the gunslinger on his word.  “Now, there was something else I wanted to ask you about – is he the reason you haven’t been to dinner since you’ve been here, Jesse?”

“Eh?”

“You haven’t had a single meal with the rest of the team.  I understand the jet lag takes a few days – but it’s been a few days and then some.  You really ought to be on a more appropriate schedule, and I had begun to wonder-”

“Naw, naw, it’s not that.”  He sighed, pressing his flesh hand against his face.  “I, uh – ain’t been real good on keepin’ track a’ time, really.”

“So you’ll join us for dinner, then!  You really need to meet the new faces,” the woman announced, using her leverage to pull him further down the hallway.  “I think you’ll like them, Jesse.  This is excellent.”

“Now, Angie, listen here--”

But the good doctor would hear no excuses, especially not when there were so many new agents to get to know.  At least Jesse McCree was well-fed before being sent off to Siberia.  If nothing else, he was looking forward to running into that bodybuilder running around those parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeeessss, you may have noticed this changed from 20 to ??? planned chapters. with this chapter, Jesse decided to veer from the outline i had decided on. once i get that set back up, i will probably readjust accordingly.
> 
> they'll get along. eventually. this WILL BE a romance. eventually. [rubs face]


	4. from my past comes a daunting task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I meant what I said, cowman,” Hanzo rumbled from where he stood. “You deserve the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this got done a little quicker than usual. i...am pretty happy with this chapter, so that's a new (nice?) feeling. yay! onwards and upwards. think i might be getting the swing of this thing.

His watch began to chirp at some ridiculous hour, and for a moment, Jesse was sorely tempted to pitch the thing against the wall and roll back over.  A moment later, his mind helpfully supplied that  _ today _ they were leaving for Siberia – leaving base would certainly do him some good.  Winston had assured them Siberia wasn’t  _ that _ unpleasant this time of year, but quite frankly, the cowboy was fairly certain he’d even take the snow and the cold if it got him away from Hanzo’s frosty behavior.

The thought of the archer had him grousing, but he slid from under the sheets all the same, suiting up as quickly as he could.  There was a bit of time before they were actually scheduled to leave, but Jesse had no intention of leaving on some sort of excursion without at least two cups of coffee in him.  (A pastry or two wouldn’t hurt, either.)

Shuffling into the kitchen with a yawn, the gunslinger made a beeline for the coffee maker.  Once he had his mug full of the good stuff, he shuffled from the pantry – and nearly ran into Lúcio on his way out.

“We gotta stop meetin’ like this, kid,” he said around a mouthful of cinnamon Poptart, one eyebrow raised.  At least he hadn’t spilled his coffee this time.

The musician just laughed and clapped a hand over Jesse’s bicep as he skirted into the large stockroom, humming to himself as he did.  “You know I wouldn’t actually run into you, McQueen.  I got  _ way _ more control than that.”  He offered a cheeky grin before disappearing entirely, helping himself to whatever the Brazilian classified as breakfast.

Jesse furrowed his brow, thoughts briefly stalled by the name.  He poked his head back into the pantry, still frowning.  “…y’know it’s McCree, right?”

“Of course!”  Lúcio didn’t spare him a second glance as he filled his arms, skating back out.  (The hell was the guy making, a fruit salad?)  “I thought we talked about this, yeah?  Magnificent Seven, Steve McQueen – actual cowboy.  It’s like that hat is  _ literally _ attached to your head or something.”

The gunslinger frowned for a moment as he puttered back into the kitchen, reaching up to finger the brim.  Briefly, he considered an argument – but the other agent was right, he decided after a moment, and frankly, he had no interest in changing his personal style anytime soon.  “Reckon yer ready t’go, then?” he rumbled, polishing off the first cup.

“Uh huh.”  The guy was still grinning, even as he popped pieces of fruit into his mouth.  Excitement of the first run.  Naturally.  “Never been to Siberia before, but I’ll bet it’s neat.  You know we’re gonna meet Zarya, right?  Like,  _ the _ Zarya, like Aleksandra Zaryanova, world class bodybuilder gone protector of the people.  She’s been on the front line and everything.”

Jesse decided not to comment on the wistful sigh, lest Lúcio point out his own giddy grin.  Yeah, he knew.  “Reckon that’s why we’re hookin’ up with her, partner.  Ain’t no one who knows the lay a’ th’ land better.  Imagine she wants th’ rumors solved, too.  Runnin’ against omnics is hard enough without Talon dickin’ around.”

“Seriously,” the younger man agreed, humming softly.  “You think she’ll stick around to help?”

Jesse paused for a moment, chewing on his lower lip.  Eventually, he offered up a shrug.  “Dunno.  Not sure how bad it actually is, up there.  Hope so, though.”  That grin was back – he turned back to the coffee maker to pour a second cup.  The idea had a spark of excitement fluttering in his gut.  If they were going to be contracting new agents,  _ that _ was the kind of person Overwatch needed.  Gave up fame to do the right thing, used their talents to  _ protect _ people.  Unlike certain Yakuza crime lords--  Jesse shook his head; thinking about that would ruin the mood, and there was no reason for that.

* * *

 

The ride to Siberia was long, but largely uneventful, and for that, Jesse could be grateful.  Flying was probably the gunslinger’s least favorite method of transportation, but given the general necessity to arrive in any decent time, a man just had to buck up and deal with it.  Fortunately, the rest of the team seemed content to let him doze, the brim of his hat tipped over his eyes as Genji and Lúcio quietly discussed music preferences in the background.

It seemed the landing came out of nowhere, the cowboy jostled from his nap with a startled snort.  Ignoring the look Genji gave him (or rather, the look he could most certainly imagine under the visor) and dried saliva he wiped from the corner of his mouth, he allowed himself a stretch before getting to his feet.

Lena had already all but bounced out the moment the door had opened, followed by the other two.  Jesse dragged his heels, spurs jingling softly as he squinted into the bright sun and braced himself for the Siberian chill, but it was a bitter cold that never came.  He blinked once and gave himself a soft shake.  “Huh.  This ain’t so bad.  Like springtime.”

Siberia, as it turned out, was fairly hospitable come summertime.

All four members puttered out into the deserted village before the transport was given clearance to take off.  A short mission, the pilot would be back in three days unless they radioed otherwise.  Jesse rocked back on his heels as the airborn vehicle disappeared slowly into the horizon, glancing over his shoulder at the others.  “Reckon our contact’s gonna show up?” he drawled, mouth twisted.  “We’re damn near the middle of nowhere.”

“We do not wish to attract attention,” Genji answered quietly, before Lúcio added in, “I don’t think she’d stand us up!”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when Lena spotted a rise of dust in the distance, pointing eagerly towards the growing spot rumbling towards them.  “A truck!” she laughed, rocking on the balls of her feet.

True enough, it was a truck that greeted them a few minutes later, a large woman with a shock of pink air leaning out the open window.  “You need a ride, yes?” she asked, small smile on her face.  “Or you are planning on camping?”

Had the figure not been so well-known, he might have been a bit more concerned about the driver’s offer.  Instead, he offered a hand to greet the woman.  “Jesse McCree, ma’am.  A real pleasure.”  A flash of white teeth as he dipped his hat.

She gripped his hand firmly, and the gunslinger was proud he didn’t wince at the crushing strength.  There was a benefit, he supposed, to all those times Gabriel had tried to break a few of those little bones in his hands.  So he only grit his teeth and grinned.  “Alexsandra Zaryanova.  But you will be knowing this – call me Zarya.”  She released Jesse and nodded towards the others.  “Your friends?”

“Ah, yeah.  Lena’s over there, Genji, and that’s Lúcio.  And that’s the set,” he rumbled, pointing to each member of the small field team as he introduced them.

When she paused for a moment, drumming fingers against the side of her vehicle.  Zarya narrowed her eyes briefly, nodding towards the man in the middle.  “Your leader did not tell me you were bringing a cyborg with you.”

Jesse’s brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder.  “Who, Genji?  He was part of the old team – he’s good.”  He glanced back at the woman, tipping his head to one side.  “This ain’t gonna be a problem now, is it?”

After another long, painful moment of silence, she gave a one-shouldered shrug and a nod, motioning with her arm for them to join.  “Not a problem.  All of you, in back.  I have small base in Kabansk – abandoned, now,” she murmured, cutting off any argument.  “Few people, no one will notice.  No one minds much, too busy.”

_ Too busy fighting _ , Jesse reckoned, but felt it impolite to mention.  He clamored up into the bed of her truck, offering a hand to Lúcio as the other two sprang up beside them.  He might have tried for conversation, but the truck roared back to life – and given the general state of disrepair of the dusty trail trying its best at being a road, he reckoned trying to talk would be asking for a bump to come along and he bite his tongue.

Several hours later, they rolled into a small town – true to Zarya’s word, they hardly drew any attention at all.  A pair of children looked up briefly from their spinning top; no one else spared them any more than a second.  The buildings were scattered across the rocky surface, and towards the outskirts, she finally rolled to a stop.  Bouncing out of her truck, she waved an arm at the dilapidated building.  “Home,” she announced, leading the small group of agents inside.

“Not much,” she said a moment later, reaching for a light switch.  “But no leaks.  Oh!  And I have supper, if you are hungry!”  Zarya went and disappeared around a corner, leaving the rest of the group to exchange glances and tail after her slowly.

Still on Gibraltar’s timeline, it wasn’t quite time for dinner – but McCree was a gracious guest, and if the others weren’t, they certainly knew how to follow suit.  The meal was joined with general chitchat, and only once the food was gone did the real conversation strike up.

“So,” McCree drawled, leaning against a wall.  He allowed the smoke from his cigarillo to drift out the open window.  “Winston mentioned y’might have an idea what’s goin’ on in these parts.  Figured we might start from there.”

“Yes,” Zarya answered firmly, folding her arms as she leaned across the table.  “There was a large explosion several days ago.  Further east, much more populated area,” she added, suddenly aware the geography of her homeland might be lost on the others.  “It was a building – no bodies found, but rumor says it was this  _ Talon _ operation.”  A huff and she waved a hand.  “But, this is not all, as I am sure you know.  Weapons were also discovered – favored by KRC, as I am to understand.  No robberies were reported by the constabulary, but--”  The woman simply shrugged, holding open palms up.

Lena scrunched her nose up, leaning into the table.  “Now, hold on a minute,” she protested, her brows furrowed.  “Those lads work awfully hard, if you’re implying--”

“Lena,” Genji interrupted, holding up a single hand as he hummed.  The tone was something low, metallic – Jesse couldn’t decide if it was soothing, or grating.  “If Overwatch were to be raided, do you think Winston would announce to the world such a thing happened?  Makes a target, if nothing else.”

The pilot paused, but she nodded after a moment, sinking down into her seat.  Relieved the tension has fizzled back down, Jesse hugged, tapping the ash out the window.  “Alright.  So we got two problems now.”  He put the cigarillo to his lips and took a long drag, watching the smoke as it slowly billowed free.  “Way I see it, best way t’get this solved in a timely manner is t’divide an’ conquer.  I reckon--”

Before he could continue, Genji piped back up.  “Are you sure that is wise?  It may be a trap – there is safety in numbers.”

“No Talon activity has been reported in this area of Russia,” Zarya insisted with a soft sniff.

“Yes,” Tracer continued, “but what if it’s someone else?  Or, you know--”

The only one who remained silent was Lúcio – odd, given Jesse’s first meeting with the kid, but he took it now with pleasure.  He cleared his throat, and waited for the ruckus to die down.  “I’m rather inclined t’believe Zarya’s intel on this one, friends, bein’ that she’s th’ one who lives here an’ all.  Th’ weapons thing – ain’t too sure about that, neither.”  Holding up a hand, he waited for Tracer to pause, and settle herself back down.  “Me an’ Lúcio will head over t’this ‘Talon hideout’ while you three check out this storehouse t’gether.  Reckon Zarya can get y’through the city alright, yeah?”  She nodded an affirmative, leaning back in her chair.  The bodybuilder seemed satisfied to accept McCree’s leadership, but—

“Now, hang on a second,” Lena interrupted his thought, frowning unhappily.  “Who put you in charge?”  Genji followed her gaze across the table, studying the cowboy intently.

“As th’ most  _ senior _ agent, ‘ll be callin’ th’ shots.  We ain’t gonna operate real smoothly with five heads.”

Lena’s eyebrow arched up further.  “You realize you’ll also take the fall if you’re wrong, luv, don’t you?”

Jesse just hummed and nodded, tapping ash out the window for the second time.  “Sure do.”  Whatever Winston could dish out, he was certain it wouldn’t hold a candle to any punishment that Gabriel Reyes used to serve up as soon as he toed the line.   _ Those _ were the days, huh?  The cowboy grimaced before returning the cigarillo to his lips, glancing back over the team.  “So them’s th’ rules, kids.  Reckon we’ll roll outta here at 0600 t’morrow, give us time t’get and get back.   _ Comprende _ ?”  A familiar voice echoed in his mind – ignoring that, he sighed, stubbed his smoke out on the sole of his boot. 

They understood, though – no one questioned it.  Thank goodness for small mercies.

* * *

 

Some things, an agent never forgot.  Take the man out of Blackwatch, but you can’t take the Blackwatch out of the man.  Rising during dusk (summer in Siberia provided limited hours of darkness, and even those were comparable to twilight – McCree could see well into the distance despite veil of night time as he fastened the chest piece of his armor.  Beside him, Genji was getting dressed in some clothing Zarya had provided – a bit baggy and ill-fitting, but a cyborg would be the first thing spotted in the small sites they were to investigate.  Even Lena opted for something more discrete than her usual neon, but that was covert operations for you.

_ Blackwatch _ .

Jesse glanced down at his black shirt, tugging at the fabric idly.  All it was missing was that fucking  _ patch _ , and it would be the same damn company.

He glanced back over at the small group – and no, it was  _ nothing _ like the old days.  These kids – and most of them were just that -- they didn’t have much the steel for the things Blackwatch had to handle.  Tracer might have worked with Overwatch before, Zarya might be a weightlifting champion; hell, even Genji, ninja and all, he’d never been a special operative, either.

The cowboy grunted softly, toying with his hat for a moment.  He might have been Gabriel’s  _ prodigy _ (for all that was worth, anyways), but he’d never envisioned himself leading  _ anyone _ into  _ anything _ , especially not once after he’d left Overwatch altogether, much less leading a small company in an effort that involved stealth.  Oh, hell.

_ Bet you wish you listened a little closer now, eh  _ vaquero?   _ I told you this was shit you were gonna need to know someday _ .

Jesse reached up to brush at his shoulder.  “Reckon I do,” he mumbled quietly.

“What was that, luv?” Lena asked, glanced over as she adjusted her goggles.

A brief flush dusting his freckles, the cowboy shook his head.  “Ah, it’s nothin’, lil’ lady.  Jes’ runnin’ over th’ plan in m’head.”  Hell, he hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud.  Clearing his throat, he dipped his head.  “Y’ready to go?”

“You got it!”

After that, the ride over was relatively quiet – most folk were still asleep, and those that weren’t had no interest in two men jumping out of the bed of a truck at an empty street corner.  With a bag and a shifty shuffle, the pair looked as much scavengers as they did anything else, Lúcio and McCree found their way through the broken wall without a problem.

“Shit – something really did a number on this place,” the musician murmured softly, carefully moving around the rubble.  “Never seen anything like this.  Omnics, you think?”

Jesse hummed quietly, shifting into the next room.  Just as ruined as the last one.  “Dunno.  All that ceiling damage, though?  Th’ wall?  This thing didn’ jes’ explode all th’ sudden – somethin’ blew it up.”  Heavy boots crunched across the rubble as he moved to a computer dock, waving Lúcio over to help.

“So you  _ did _ learn something after all,” the voice in his head rumbled.  It was raspier than usual, and Jesse rolled his shoulder in irritation.  Now was not the time for inner monologues, especially when it was lessons his former teacher never taught him.

“Jesse!”  There was a shake in Lúcio’s voice, and the cowboy could see the flash of green from the corner of his eye as the audio medic released a stream of pulses.  Pure muscle memory found Peacekeeper faster than he could blink, finger on the trigger as he whirled on the interloper.

Interloper, sounded so much like—

The cloaked figure ghosted forward, pulses simply passing through him as Lúcio choked.  “That’s impossible!” he hissed, wild eyes bouncing between Jesse and the stranger both.  A beat later, he remembered.  ( _ Lúcio _ might have actually been paying attention during Winston’s debriefing.)  “That’s  _ Reaper _ .”

Jesse hadn’t moved from his spot, the figure landing several lengths away.  “See you’ve learned to stay that itchy finger,  _ mano _ , huh?”  The voice wasn’t quite right – but who else would know that?  Not even fucking  _ Jack Morrison _ knew that, knew that Gabriel Reyes and his unofficial second had begun to bond like proper shield brothers, didn’t know how they trained, didn’t know--  The click of the shotgun shifting and the gunslinger snapped from his trance; he moved in a blur.  Peacekeeper pressed against the black hood; one of those hellfire guns pressed into his side.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” McCree sneered, thumb pulling back the hammer.  “You died.  You fucking  _ died _ , I saw th’  _ gravestone _ , Reyes!” 

That Lúcio was still in the background seemed inconsequential to both the other men.

A grim laughter rolled through Reaper, his shoulder’s shaking as he nudged one barrel a little harder into the cowboy’s side.  “Didn’t take, you piece of shit.  Thought you were smarter than that.”  A low hiss, and he moved, other weapon flying up to point at the DJ shifting a few feet away.  “Don’t move,” he rasps, fingering the trigger.  “Call for backup and I’ll them frog legs, boy.  The ingrate and I are having a chat,  _ comprende, rana?”  _

Jesse shifted just enough to block the man’s view, lips peeled back in an ugly snarl.  “Yer supposed t’ be dead.  Th’ fuck are you doing with  _ Talon _ ?” he demanded, free hand shoving forward.  This couldn’t be Reyes.  This  _ couldn’t be _ .

But the train—

_ Blackwatch tactics. _

Reaper made another low noise, and Jesse could almost  _ feel _ the menacing glare from underneath the mask.  “You ask Ziegler.  Ask Soldier: 76.  Wise up, cowboy,” he hissed, any sense of humor gone.  “You think the monkey’s really in charge?  You think he invited  _ Morrison _ along for old time’s sake, huh?  Open your fucking eyes.”

_ “Morrison?”  _ Jesse manages to choke, grip faltering ever so slightly.  How many ghosts were coming back to life?

“Where you been, under a fucking rock?  The gang’s all here, McCree.”  A pause, and Jesse could swear he hears the wicked grin crack Reyes’ face beneath the mask.  “The whole gang.  He keep that one from you too, huh?   _ Cuidado, vaquero _ _.  _ _ Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos.” _

The agent rolled his shoulders in a shrug, taking a step back as black smoke began to curl around heavy boots.  “Wait a hot second,” Jesse growled, one step behind and one step too slow.  “Y’don’t get t’drop tha’ an’ jes’  _ leave,  _ Reyes.  Reyes!  Answer me!”

“I don’t answer to you _ , ingrate _ ,” the other man snarled, smoke rising at an alarming rate.  “Ask them.  And while you’re at it, belay a message for me: Talon has nothing to do with this.  This shit’s too sloppy.  Tell your monkey to check his fucking sources, would you?”

“Reyes!” Jesse barked again, lunging – but he slid right through the shadow of an image, Reaper vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared moments before.  “Reyes!?  Fuck!” Jesse roared, slamming his metal fist into a wall.  Concrete crumbled from the indent – his elbow rattled from the impact, and the gunslinger swept sideways, shoving over a chair as he swore under his breath, every other phrase a colorful bite of Spanish.

For his part, Lúcio wisely stayed back, radioing in to the other group to return – their rumor was a bust.  

“You okay, McCree?” the DJ hazarded once the older man fell silent, brows furrowed as he studied him.  “He didn’t get you, did he, man?  I shouldn’t have let him get so close, I’m so sorry--”

Jesse held up his gloved hand.  “It’s fine, kid.  Nothin’ y’coulda done, I reckon.”  When Gabriel Reyes wanted something, he’d rail and rage until he damn well got it.  Better that the kid wasn’t in the way in the first place, really.  He ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily.  “Think it’s in our best interest t’ regroup an’ head back t’ base, though.  Think we’ve been led on a wild goose chase.”

“You sure we should trust him?” Lúcio replied warily, looking towards the place Reaper had literally billowed away moments before.  “I mean – he’s Talon, man.”

“Mhm,” the cowboy agreed mildly, taking a moment to glance around.  “Reckon so.  Seems awful abandoned t’ me though, don’ it?”  Jesse shook his head.  “Should probably consult th’ others, I think, before comin’ t’ anymore conclusions.”

“Yeah – that sounds about right.”

 

* * *

 

It was, as it turned out,  _ not _ about right.

While Zarya was more than happy to accompany them back to Gibraltar (and that really had to count for  _ something _ , Jesse thought), their return to base was less than a warm welcome. 

_ “Yes,” _ Jesse sighed, for what felt like the seventh time.  The other team members had all been dismissed – Lena to get Zarya settled, the other two to--  Well, whatever they were doing, the man was quite certain it is better than a debriefing.  There was a list of reasons he’d never reached for leadership, and he was pretty darn certain this was one of them.  “Yes.  We checked th’ safe house.  It was  _ abandoned _ , Winston – computers wouldn’ turn on.  Metric ton a’ dust.  Shelled from th’ outside, too.”  He narrowed his eyes briefly, chewing on his lip.  Did he ask...?

Winston didn’t give him the chance.  “You broke the team up, Jesse.  I didn’t tell you to do that.”

What, this?  The gunslinger huffed, his brows furrowing as he glowered from beneath the brim of his worn hat.  “Yeah.  Divide an’ conquer, an’ all that.”

“ _ Jesse _ .  I did  _ not _ give you authority to--”

“Didn’ realize I needed yer permission t’  _ breath _ , Winston--”

“You do,” the scientist replied sharply, eyes narrowing as he adjusted his glasses meticulously.  “When you are out in the field, you follow  _ orders _ .  More importantly, you put the others in danger.  It could have been a trap.”

“But it  _ wasn’ _ .”

“It could have been--”

“If y’ thought it was a trap, Winston, y’shouldn’ a’ sent us!” Jesse finally snapped, fingers balled by his sides.  “Th’ hell are y’ gettin’ this information, anyways?”

Winston’s expression darkened as he straightened, remaining silent for several moments.  The gunslinger was beginning to think that maybe the conversation was going to end there when the primate cleared his throat.  “Is there something you need to tell me, McCree?”

The cowboy responded only with a stony look.

“You know the other three report into me, as well.”

Jesse bit his lower lip, struggling against the urge to bare his teeth.  (If it were Gabriel, the man would have challenged him right back by now.)  “Yeah?  Go figure.  Reyes was there.”

“Reaper--”

“ _ Reyes _ .”

“ _ Reaper _ is a known terrorist, McCree.   _ Talon _ is no friend of Overwatch, and even if they have nothing to do with this, there is no reason to believe they are friendlies.  You could have gotten Lúcio killed.”  Jesse bit harder into his lip – ah, yes.  Wouldn’t want to get the kid killed now, would we?

“I didn’t.”  A beat.  “Does  _ Morrison  _ know?”

“How did you--”  Winston sighed, understanding dawning quickly.  “Yes.  He knows.  That’s why he’s  _ here _ .  I invited him.  McCree, look, I know this is probably difficult, but--”

“Yer darn well it is.  You knew.”  His hands had begun to tremble with the strain of holding back a rush of words.  So many questions.  “Y’ know what?  Ferget that.  Y’got what y’need, Winston?”

“Yes.  I expect you to submit a report by tomorrow evening.”

“Right,” Jesse muttered, turned on his heel.  Spurs jangled loudly all the way out.  Head low, if anyone else was in the hall, he didn’t notice – they were wise enough to leave him be.  It should have been no surprise, really, that he made a beeline for his usual shooting gallery, far too itchy to go perch on the cliffs above and watching the seagulls float on by.  Punching his ID in automatically, it didn’t even register that someone else was already in the range until he was reaching for Peacekeeper and glancing up.  “Oh.”

His shoulders slumped as Hanzo turned around, thick brows furrowing as he identified the intruder.  Jesse’s hand dropped as he opened his mouth, but soon found he had nothing to say.  What was he going to do, challenge the archer to another match?  His pride could not suffer another loss – and if he was being frank with himself, the cowboy was pretty certain he wasn’t going to be the quickest draw after today.

His jaw clicked shut, and the archer snorted softly, his tiny feet (why are they such tiny feet?) padding softly against the floor.  “You look like you have crawled out of a gutter,” he observes casually, as if remarking on the weather.  When Jesse looks up, he realizes the archer has actually put the arrow away, perhaps fully engaged in a conversation with him for the first time.

Naturally, it was with an insult.  He probably deserved that, though.  “Reckon so,” he sighed instead, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.  Why argue?  Certainly felt like it.

Hanzo gave the taller man an appraising look that seemed to stretch for ages.  Eventually, he began to untie the gourd hanging at his side.  “You deserve the truth, cowman.  Are your friends dead or alive?”

“How did you--”  Jesse aborts the question, realizing halfway through that a certain cyborg ninja had probably already spread the news.  So he rolls his shoulders in a helpless shrug, head tipped to one side.  Were they even really his friends?  “Suppose I wasn’ expectin’ t’ find  _ ghosts _ out in Siberia.”

“No one is ever ready to see their ghosts.”

The cowboy snorted softly, mouth twisted to one side.  He cannot think of a single thing to say, as if struck by some divine force.  Fortunately, Hanzo does not seem perturbed by the lack of response.

“My mentor – dead, like the others at my father’s side...or so I believed.  And then he showed up five years after Genji’s death and demands he be spared of whatever the clan had done to him.  And there is Genji, of course.”  He pauses long enough to make sure he has Jesse’s eye – there is something there when the cowboy doesn’t flinch, some small flicker of interest, and he deems it worthy to continue.  “I watched them bury him.”

The rest went without saying, Jesse supposed. 

“We live in a time where the ground cannot hold the dead, cowman.”  Hanzo has produced a small ceramic dish, pouring something from the gourd before offering it to Jesse.  “I think you need this more than I.”

For a moment, the gunslinger could only blink, stunned by the offering of peace.  Certainly, he’d done nothing to  _ deserve _ it – but a tired mind whirred slowly, and he accepted the small ceramic carefully.  “Thanks, partner,” he rasps before downing the sake.  It burns in all the right ways as it makes its way down his throat, settling warm in the pit of his belly.  Doesn’t help that he hadn’t eaten – wasn’t mealtime, and he’d skipped a trip to the pantry in his eagerness to burn off some steam.

All the same, the frustrations seem to be gone from his shoulders as he shifts to return the small dish to its owner.  “Suspect I got a lot t’think about,” he decided after a moment, taking a step back towards the door.  “I’ll leave ya to it, then.”  Jesse waved a hand as he turned, dipping his hat low to shade his face.  Goodness, what would Hanzo think of him after all of that?

His thoughts didn’t get a chance to run far with him.  “I meant what I said, cowman,” Hanzo rumbled from where he stood.  “You deserve the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i adore the chapter title. i adore it so much. jesse, my silly chicken nugget, how much trouble are you in?
> 
> Translation:  
> Cuidado, vaquero. Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos. -- Raise crows and they will peck your eyes out. (Keep bad company, and they will take advantage of you eventually.)


	5. riddled with six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse McCree finally gets to punch someone in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry this took so long. D: working on a dissertation is very -- time consuming, sometimes. i hope it is satisfactory, at least. u __ u

Jesse wakes up with an ache in his bones and the sound of gulls discussing the weather outside his window.  Or at least, he rather fancied that’s what they discussed, if not the right height from which to drop shellfish on the rocks.  (But from his recent broods out on the cliff side, the cowboy would reckon the birds already had that particular technique down pat.)  Despite everything that’d gone on in Siberia, he’d actually…slept.  Glancing at his watch revealed a rather humane time of the morning; maybe the sake had helped more than he thought it would.

Or maybe it was the man who’d offered him the drink…but that was not a possibility he was willing to consider just yet.

The peace of the morning didn’t last for long; the kitchen wasn’t too busy, at least.  While dinner was generally a communal meal, the other two were free-for-alls.  If you were hungry, you fed yourself.  That was what the poptarts were for, really – coffee in hand and pastry horked down, he kept moving down the halls.

While the lull lasted well into the morning, it could not last forever; Genji found the cowboy in the early afternoon, rounding on the man as he exited the communal showers adjacent to the training room.  The cowboy raised a bushy brow, adjusting the towel on his hip with a wry expression.  “Genji,” he rumbled, dipping his head in greeting.  As he tried to step around the younger man for the bench, the cyborg mirrored him, preventing Jesse from reaching his pile of clothing.  His eyebrow rose higher.  “Y’need somethin’, friend?”

“We need to have words, McCree,” Genji replied crisply.  The sharp town was enough to remove any other smart remark from the tip of the cowboy’s tongue, and so the ninja to advantage of the silence and pressed onwards.  “You ran into my brother before you went to Siberia.”

“Yeah?  Where’s this goin’?” Jesse replied, brows furrowing.  He worked his lower lip between his teeth as his mind race; Genji had been  _ with him _ on the field mission.  What could have gone on—

“You asked me where Hanzo was so that you could  _ apologize _ to him,” Genji murmured stiffly.  “A private space that is meant for meditation and reflection.  I  _ told you _ because I thought you were going to apologize to him.  Jesse – you lied to me!”

“Naw – naw on purpose!”  The man shifted uneasily, eyes flickering from the man to his pile of clothes, and back again.  “I had gone with th’ intention t’pologize, Genji.”

“Did you?” he replied stiffly, arms folded across his chest.  “That is not how it sounded.”

Jesse should have known, despite the dragons’ differences, they will still confer about such matters.  If nothing else, he suspected the younger Shimada brother held a keen stake in at least a working relationship between his elder brother and good friend – of course he would have followed up on the attempted peace making.

“I--  Yes, I did.”  The cowboy’s nostrils flared, whiskey eyes darkening.  Since when had Genji Shimada the right to interrogate him like this?  “Didn’ go accordin’ t’ plan, was all.  Didn’ see eye t’ eye, lost a bit a’ m’temper, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Yeah, I suppose!  I dunno if y’noticed, Genji, but yer brother ain’t exactly a basket a’ rainbows an’ butterflies.”  Ignoring the man’s perplexed look, Jesse continued.  “So, no – tha’ was m’intention, but not how it worked out, alright?  Saw ‘im last night tho’ – don’t look at me like that, Shimada – an’ things ‘re alright now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jesse drawled, shifting his feet against the cold tile floor.  “Things’re alright now.  If y’gotta interrogate someone, go talk t’ him, huh?  I ain’t even got pants on.”

The younger dragon startled, blinking twice as if he hadn’t noticed McCree’s general state of undress in the slightest.  “I suppose so.  Thank you for the talk, Jesse,” he murmured, bobbing his head before turning, disappearing from the room in one fluid motion.  At the very least, Jesse could call it the strangest encounter he had for several days.

* * *

 

Finally, in the week following the expedition Siberia, Jesse McCree seemed to settle into life at the Watchpoint.  While more than a few hours of sleep a night was still a difficult task to achieve, the man generally woke up before noon.  Why, he’d even attended a few meals with the group, assisting Reinhardt in the kitchen when dinner included cornbread and chili.  Let no one ever imply McCree could not feed himself (or others) a proper meal when the need arose.

He only ran into Hanzo once during those days, and even then, it was little more than crossing paths as one man arrived to run the track in the quiet hours well beyond dusk, the other slipping out of the shower.  For all the days that he’d managed to turn up in the shooting gallery at the exact same time as the archer, Jesse couldn’t seem to place him now that they’d exchanged a few friendly words.

Still owed him a proper thank you, he did, now that he’d had some shut eye, some time to mull things over in silence.

Still had a lot of unanswered questions, too – but none of that was Hanzo’s problem, not really.  Not anyone’s but his own.

Unfortunately, it seemed Angela wasn’t too inclined to let that sleeping dog lie.  Several weeks after the initial recall, the good doctor finally dragged Overwatch’s resident cowboy in for a long overdue physical exam.

“This really necessary, Angie?” the brunet groused, tugging the plaid button down over his head.  “Y’know I ain’t as rowdy as I used t’be.”  Which wasn’t necessarily true, but he was pretty certain his health hadn’t changed too drastically in the past couple of years.

Dr. Ziegler only hummed under her breath as she passed one of the biotic scanners next to Jesse, her eyes focused on the screen as it began to read out vitals.  “When was the last time you saw a doctor, McCree?” she asked, transcribing the data to update the man’s old file.

“Uh--”  He wrinkled his nose, glancing upwards at the ceiling.  “Well…”

She sighed.  “I figured as much.  You never have been good about your health, Jesse,” she scolded, tutting softly as she put the instrument away.  Hadn’t she been telling him to stop smoking since they’d met?  And they’d both been so young in those days!  “You understand there are things you need to watch for as you get older, yes?  I think--”

Jesse scoffed.  “‘d hardly call me  _ old _ , Angie.  Ain’t even forty, yet.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “Yer only a year younger, yerself, missy.”

The woman chuckled softly, laughter twinkling like little bells.  She shook her head.  “True – but I also keep a very good tally on my personal health, Jesse.  I run almost every day, I’ve never smoked a day in my life.  I could go on.”

He held up his prosthetic hand.  “I get yer point,” he groused, mouth twisting to one side as he pointedly looked away.  “I run.”  It was tacked on as an afterthought, as if that alone could make up for years of indulging in a particularly unhealthy vice. 

Angela pressed on effortlessly, ignoring the way her patient tried to squirm away every time.  His general dislike for medical procedures was old news – but this was the easy part.  It was what followed that was going to be a bit more difficult.  Best to get through everything she could until then.  Setting the holopad down, Angela leaned back against her small desk.  “Any medical procedures since I’ve seen you last?”

“Naw.”

“No significant illnesses?  Lasting injuries?”

“Nope.  Nothing outside a cold a few years back.”

The woman snorted softly, lifting a brow.  “Poor thing,” she mocked, remembering well the last time Jesse McCree had contracted an illness under her care.  She might have accused him of trying to get around the questions, but she liked to think the man could at least be honest with his doctor, if nothing else.  “Anything else bothering you, Jesse?”

The cowboy rolled a shoulder, briefly nodding towards his prosthetic.  “Phantom pains, every now an’ again.  Nothin’ new, though.”  A decade and a half down the road, and some things would never change.  (It was always the things you could really do without though, wasn’t it?)

“That’s not what I meant,” Angela replied, her delicate features going soft.  It was good to know.  She’d make a note in his file for later, but – that really wasn’t what she was after here.  “Are you adjusting alright?  I realize it’s probably a bit of a difference from where you were.”  A heavy pause.  “And how things used--”

Jesse swallowed hard, shaking his head before the blonde could continue her train of thought.  “‘m fine, alright?  Took a bit of time t’ get used t’so many folk in th’ same place after livin’ by myself, but I reckon ‘m doin’ alright.”  He stopped there, Gabriel’s warning echoing in his mind.

_ “You ask Ziegler.  Ask Soldier: 76.  Wise up, cowboy.  You think the monkey’s really in charge?  You think he invited Morrison along for old time’s sake, huh?  Open your fucking eyes.”  _

Whiskey eyes flicked upwards, studying Angela’s face for a moment.  Did she know?  If she knew, would she be  _ honest _ ?  She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming so far if she had all the informing Reyes claimed she did.

_ “Cuidado, vaquero _ _.  _ _ Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos.” _

If she knew, could he  _ really _ trust her?  She’d always been more inclined towards Jack, hadn’t she?  Prodigies, gotta stick together, something like that.

“Jesse?”  The man’s head jerked up as the doctor tipped her head to one side; he realized he’d been silent for too long.  Hell, that’s what he needed, for Angela to think there was something  _ actually _ bothering him and go digging around.  For all he knew, he’d get read the riot act about Hanzo for the third time.  “Jesse, what’s wrong?  You can tell me, you know that, right?”

The cowboy inclined his head, briefly reaching to dip the brim of his hat before realizing it was still on the table beside him, beneath his shirt.  “Reckon I do, doc,” he murmured in response, eyes a careful neutral.

_ Gabe would be so proud _ .

The thought almost made him nauseous.

“Really though, ain’t no reason t’go worryin’ about me none, y’hear?  Jes’ a bit slow t’adjust.  Already settlin’ in.  I promise.”  When she opened her mouth to protest, he pressed on.  “Look, if anythin’ comes up, I promise ‘ll letcha know, alright?”

“…well.  Alright,” she replied, slowly standing up straight.  “Well, if that’s all, I suppose we ought to finish this and let you on your way, yes?”  Jesse’s eager nod was met with a wry smile and the knowledge he was not going to look so pleased in a moment.  “So, from what I can tell, and what you’ve told me, you haven’t really received any medical attention since Overwatch’s first life.  You’re going to need some booster shots, Jesse.”

“What.”

“Tetanus, at the very least.  The  _ very _ least.  But given the recent reports and some of the ideas Winston has, there are a few other boosters I’d suggest, such as--”

“Now look here, Angela, nobody said nothin’ about no damn  _ shots _ , and--”

“For goodness sake, Jesse, grow up a little.  It’s not going to hurt, it’s for your own good.  We don’t even have to do them all now, we can--”

“Reckon I don’t need any at all if I haven’t needed ‘em yet!”

“Jesse!” Dr. Ziegler huffed.  “We could be done already if you’d stop protesting.  And sit back down!  I  _ will _ ground you if--”

The team’s medic did not get to finish her threat as Athena’s cool voice cut through the entire room.  “All agents are to report to the conference room.  I repeat: all agents are to report to the conference room at once.”

The AI chimed off, and a cold chill ran down Jesse’s spine.  He exchanged a brief look with the blonde, their argument from only a moment before already forgotten as they both scrambled to answer the call.  “What do you think’s going on?” Angela whispered harshly as Jesse pulled on his shirt, grabbing his hat before they both paced out the door.

That she didn’t know alarmed the agent all the further.  “Don’t know,” he replied brusquely, two steps ahead of the woman.  “Reckon it’s no small matter, though, if Winston’s callin’ errybody, if he ain’t even usin’ our communicators.”

“Yes…”  She trailed off, and the knot bound itself a little tighter in the pit of Jesse’s belly.  “…oh dear.”  It was almost too quiet to hear.  The only other sound was the click of the pairs’ boots as they hurried to the other end of the station.  Several other agents had already beaten them there, all with the same stricken look as they murmured to each other in hushed whispers.  Genji appeared silently at Angela’s side, touching her shoulder once as they exchanged a brief look.  Before the cowboy could comment, a commotion at the front of the room silenced him, and all the others.

Zarya and Winston were huddled close to the large screen, Solder: 76 a few feet away.  Blackouts and explosions rippled across the screen in a crackling circuit; Jesse felt his mouth dry up as he recognized the setting almost immediately.   _ Siberia _ .  Maybe not the same town the bodybuilder had taken them to, not exactly, but pattern recognition ain’t that hard, and he knows every other member of the field team is probably feeling the exact same knot of dread building in their throat.

One sideways look towards Genji confirms – the man has replaced his visor silently, but his head is canted down, and Jesse knows.  He doesn’t even want to look at Lúcio – poor kid.  First mission, and now they’re face with  _ this _ .  It probably isn’t their fault, but it sure as hell feels like someone should have noticed something.

_ If Gabriel hadn’t shown up— _

_ If Talon’s behind this, I swear t’God— _

“We have confirmed several attacks in Russia.”  Winston’s solemn voice breaks the heavy blanket of silence around the room.  He and Zarya have stepped to the side to make the screen visible; the woman can’t seem to tear her eyes away as thick fingers curl into heavy fists.  Jesse can’t say he blames her, whisky eyes settling back on the self-declared leader as the scientist continues.  “Several major cities have been hit.  There are sweeping blackouts preceding the explosion of several government buildings.  All attacks were completely synchronized.”  He sighs, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.  “Casualties unknown.”

“Talon?” Lena asks, leaning into the table as she drums her fingers against the surface nervously.  No doubt she worried about all the same things currently racing through the cowboy’s mind.  “…do we know, luv?”

Winston almost looked pained as he fell silently, expression distant as he worked his jaw.  The man could feel his chest constrict around his heart, lungs stuttering to a halt as the interim leader slowly met his gaze before pressing on.  “We do know,” he murmured quietly, subdued.  “It was not Talon, as far as we can tell.  It wasn’t the gun-running ring, either.  We have reason to believe this was a coordinated attack by the omnics.”

The room went so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

“Is it a god program?”  Pharah’s arms were folded across her chest, expression unreadable.  Hell, he hoped not.  Most of these kids had  _ no idea _ – Amari’s girl was probably the only one who understand just what that meant.  Shit.

Winston turned slightly, tapping a few things into his console before drawing up a new set of images.  Plans.  Blueprints.  Reports in languages Jesse couldn’t even identify.  “Uncertain – though the coordination of the attacks leaves us to believe it could well be; either that, or an inside job.  Someone in the Russian government feeding information to the--”

“They would  _ never _ ,” Zarya interrupted, accent several degrees harsher.  She shook her head violently.  “ _ No _ .  We have been fighting this for long time – very long time.  They would not just  _ sell out _ like this.  I refuse.”

Silence fell over the group again, no one quite willing to bicker with the newest recruit over what was arguably her area of expertise, and Winston took opportunity of the moment.  “As likely as it looks, we have no concrete evidence.  We’re going to have to send more teams to Siberia – we’ll leave a crew here, as well.”  That Winston had barely defended the Watchpoint on his own didn’t need to be said.  And then, there wasn’t nearly as much of value.  If it wasn’t Talon, there were countless others who could benefit from the resources or the technology or the information currently housed at Overwatch’s only base of operations.  “I will direct from here with Athena – Soldier: 76 will head field operations.”

“Soldier: 76,” Jesse huffed, straightening his shoulders.  The man in question tipped his head in the cowboy’s direction but said nothing, the glowing orange mask giving way absolutely nothing.

Winston adjusted his glasses again, turning his attention back towards the table.  “Yes.  I can’t be in both places at once – and no one knows these systems like I do.”  Soldier: 76 knew infinitely more about field work, that went without saying – but at least some of the other members were giving the gorilla the same quizzical look.  Didn’t know who he was, why he’d be given command so easily.  It was almost laughable.  “Are we going to have a problem, McCree?”

“Nope.”

_ Not me an’ you, Winston _ .

His smile must have been as good as it’d ever been –  _ quite the charmer,  _ Ana had always said – because the scientist nodded and continued, briefly outlining the schedule, how long it would take them to mobilize.  He’d had time to get his things together, at least, have a quick chat with his working group – and then they were dismissed.  Jesse idled around long enough as the others filtered out, urging Angela along with Genji as he loitered.  Only Winston and Zarya stayed behind, calm voices trying to quiet frustrated ones as they developed a plan of action, and the cowboy disappeared into the hallway silently.

Perhaps Solder: 76 wasn’t as observant as Jack Morrison had been, or perhaps the former Strike Commander never  _ had _ given Blackwatch just enough credit, but when McCree burst from his hidden spot, he had the man down on the ground in a matter of seconds.

_ Looks like you learned something after all,  _ vaquero.

_ Shut up _ , McCree told his inner critic sharply, ignoring the dull ache in his knees as he framed the man’s torso.  The struggle was brief, his upper hand serving him exponentially.  His face stung from the closed fist Jack had snuck in, but hey.  Maybe age was finally serving him.  Pinning arms over silver hair with his prosthetic, Jesse dug his fingers into the bright orange mask and ripped.  The visor came free with a hiss, skittering across the floor as baby blue eyes stared right back up at Jesse, scarred lips twisted into an ugly sneer.  “McCree.”

“Y’ fuckin’ piece of shit,” Jesse snarled in response, baring pointed canines in an ugly threat.  Liar, his mind pointed out, liar.  Reyes was  _ right _ – here they were, starting ‘a new Overwatch’, and Winston had put the former Strike Commander in charge without batting an eyelash.  What did he know, anyways?  “Yer supposed t’be  _ dead _ !”

Grabbing the shoulders of the man’s, he lifted and slammed him down once, taking sick pleasure in the dull thunk of flesh against the concrete floor.  Hands now free, Jack did not waste a second, grappling for any purchase.  Knees came up as he tried to shift the cowboy’s weight at his torso and Jesse shifted, heels dug into the soldier’s side.  Even with leather, Jack could still feel the sharp dig of six-star spurs and still momentarily, gaze narrowing.  “It didn’t take.”

Something hysterical bubbled inside Jesse’s chest, just this side of spilling out as his shoulders shook.  Gabriel had almost said the exact same thing.  “An’ y’jes’, wha’?  Figured yer better off hidin’?  Tha’ no one would mind?  Shit, Morrison we weren’ real close--” –but Morrison had always been close to Reyes, and that was the real kicker, wasn’t it?- “—but I fired an honor shot fer ya.”  The babbling stops, and for a moment, the pair of men simply stare at one another; finally, Jack gets a moment and shifts his weight to one side, throwing Jesse against a wall and sliding free.

He does not, however, make a break for it.

Drawing himself together, the man sits at the floor, still squinting at the cowboy in the dim light.  “Didn’t think anyone else actually knew.  Other than the ladies, Winston.”

“The ladies?”  Jesse can feel his heart stop in his chest.  It’s stopped, he’s certain of it.  He’s going to have a damn heart attack at this rate.

“Ana and Sombra,” the soldier replies, as if they aren’t classified as killed or missing in action.  His expression hasn’t changed.  “How did you know?”

Jesse has gone cold as ice.   _ The gang’s all here,  _ vaquero.   _ What did I tell you?   _ It takes too long to process, but it looks like Jack isn’t going anywhere fast.  When he finally settles his gaze back on the silver-haired agent, whisky eyes have gone a little wild, his nostrils flared.  “Gabriel told me,” he seethes, glove squeaking as his fingers clench.  He wants Peacekeeper.  God Almighty, but does he want Peacekeeper in his hand right now.

Finally, it is Morrison’s turn to look like he’s seen a damn ghost.  “Gabriel?  No,” he mutters brusquely, finally picking himself up off the concrete floor.  “No.  He was killed in Switzerland.”

The laugh finally barks itself free, something feral and hurt as Jesse uses the wall to lever himself upwards.  “Can’t even recognize yer own partner, huh?  Guess he was right ‘bout you,” he snarls, taking the brief flinch as a token of victory.  There are chinks in his armor, after all.  “He told me.  Warned me ‘bout you.  I shoulda listened, shoulda listened.”

Wasn’t that always the story, though?

“Reaper?” Jack manages to choke out, icy blue eyes locked on Jesse as the man shifts erratically back and forth.

“Well, clearly.  Sure ain’t Winston,” he spits, and that’s it.  He’s had enough, knows what he needs to.  It’s clear Overwatch isn’t all it’s chalked up to be – why’d he come here, anyways?  The cowboy is pushing past the former commander before he can ask any other question, ignoring the blossoming bruise on his cheek as he lets his boots guide him back through the empty halls.  Wherever the other agents have gone, he doesn’t care.  Can’t care, not right now, not with his eyes burning and his heart sitting in the pit of his gut like a hunk of lead.  Hell, it’d hurt less if he’d swallowed a damn bullet.

* * *

 

That’s probably how he finds himself in the shooting range, anyways.  Alone again.  But Jesse doesn’t mind the silence broken only by the sharp crack of six bullets fired from the chamber, broken by the acrid burn of gunpowder and clean metal.  There’s something comforting about Peacekeeper’s familiar weight in his glove, and the cowboy takes solace in that until a low voice startles him from his thoughts.

“What?” he demands harshly, swinging around to find Hanzo significantly closer than he realized.  The cowboy shifts sideways quickly, replacing the safety on his revolver.  “Careful, partner.  Sneak up on me like that an’ yer gonna be riddled with six.”

Hanzo only snorts softly, tipping his head to one side.  “I have enough faith in your ability that I do not fear friendly fire,” he remarks, arms folded over his chest.  “You have been in here for many hours.”

“Uh huh.”  Jesse twists his mouth to one side, studying the archer’s gaze for a moment.  His eyes are so ­ _grey_ and he wonders if it’s possible for eyes to naturally take on that shade.  Isn’t like Hanzo couldn’t afford the alteration if he wanted – but the stark difference is beautiful, and so he supposes he won’t question it.  That he considered the man’s eyes **_beautiful_** occurs to him a moment later, and the gunslinger clears his throat, looking back down the range.  “Couldn’t sleep.  Figured I’d work on m’draw.”

“Your time hasn’t improved in the last two hours, McCree,” the archer remarks, his own gaze unwavering.  “Perhaps it is time you rest for the night.  Repetition will only get you so far.”

“Said th’ pot t’ th’ kettle,” the younger man snorted softly, mouth twisted up sideways.  He didn’t argue any further, instead asking, “You come for a match, then?”

Hanzo shook his head, something that might be a very small smile hidden somewhere in the corner of his lips.  “No.  Were you not listening?  I fear you would only lose.  You have been here for hours – and I favor this particular range, as do you.”

“Uh huh.  Y’know they’re all the same, don’tcha?”  When the smaller man only fixed him with a hard stare, Jesse rolled his shoulders.  It was true – he only ever practiced in this one.  For sentimental reasons, maybe, but he reckoned it wasn’t too far-fetched to believe Hanzo had reasons of his own.  “Suppose I could clear out fer ya.”

Hanzo shook his head, reaching out to catch the gunslinger’s bicep before he could disperse.   “That is not what I said.  You Americans  and your listening skills.”  He clicked his tongue, a strand of hair falling forward as he shook his head.  “Did you find your answers?”

For a moment, Jesse stilled, thick brows furrowing.   _ That _ was why Hanzo came?  To follow up on that conversation over a week ago?  He’d even begun to think it a one-time phenomenon – eventually, he shook his head, trying to unlock the words trapped somewhere in his throat.  “Naw.  More questions, I reckon.”

“More ghosts.”

“Uh huh.”  A pause.  What the hell, why keep the big secret?  “Jack Morrison.”

Both of Hanzo’s eyebrows shot up at the announcement – a moment later, his mask replaced, the man reaching up delicate fingers to brush a few strands of grey behind his ear.  Hell, Jesse thought mildly, some of us age a lot better than others.

The Soldier?” the archer hazarded, having been keenly aware of the almost-confrontation during Winston’s debriefing.

“Well, ain’t you a clever one,” Jesse drawled, rolling his cigarillo between his lips.  “Uh huh.  We had a lil’ talk, me an’ him.  We go back.”  He sighed, a low draw of smoke billowing from his nostrils as he glanced up at the ceiling.  “Can’t say it was ever real good, but – well, reckon I know proper where I stand now.  Finally.”  The gunslinger shifted, his gaze finally falling back on the smaller man.  “I mourned ‘em, y’know.  These ghosts.  We’d all been some level a’ close an’ I – dunno.  Reckoned if I wasn’ gone they wouldn’a fallin’ apart why they did.”  A beat, and he hissed between his teeth, red dusting the bridge of his nose.  “Sorry, partner.  Ain’t real sure why ‘m tellin’ y’this.”

Hanzo only rolled his shoulders in a shrug, following Jesse’s gaze to the ceiling and sparing the man his scrutiny, if only for a moment.  “Perhaps you might have prolonged the inevitable, but things fall apart, Jesse McCree.  From what I understand, the problem went much deeper than you.”  When he was met with silence, he glanced over.  “The ghosts are here, now.  It is up to you to move forward, or let them hold you back.”

“…yer real philosophical, anyone ever told you that?”

“My father was a very wise man.  He taught us many lessons when we were young.”

“Uh huh.”  Jesse huffed again, moving to stamp the edge of his cigar out on his metal arm.  “Well – reckon I did make ya wait long enough.  Range’s yers.  Suppose ‘ll be seein’ ya in th’ mornin’ fer assignment.”  God help him if he were put in the same team as Morrison.

“I will--”  A pause.  “I will be seeing you too, Jesse McCree.”

_ Well _ , the man thought, seeing himself out,  _ ain't that just the darndest thing. _


	6. ammunition in someone else's war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's ghosts continue to haunt him, and Hanzo's efforts earn a reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy howdy, i am sure sorry this chapter took so long to write! i spent most of the month working on my DDIG (shout out to any other grad students out there, hollah), and this had to take a back seat. hoping to get back into the swing of things now that the grants are mostly submitted~

The possibility of another omnic uprising in Russia leaves Jesse with a busy mind – he knows he needs to get at least a little shut eye.  If Winston isn’t sending them out in the morning, they’re planning to leave, at the very least, and the agent knows he needs to be at his best and brightest.   _ Wants _ to be at his best and brightest, even.  But every time he closes his eyes, the rolling blackouts play across his eyelids like a movie screen.  Even in silence, they’re horrifying, because he knows what they  _ mean _ .  If it’s not the electricity being sucked from households, then it’s the synchronized explosions on the other screen, governmental buildings lighting up like volcanoes before falling back to the earth in a cloud of ash.  Silent still, because it wasn’t meant to traumatize, wasn’t meant to cut the scientist off, but the cowboy can fill in the screams of panic and horror for himself.  He’s been there, before.  Knows what it looks like, smells like, sounds like.

They all do.

Well, those that’ve been there before.  Jesse rolls over and stares at the empty wall, mind turning the situation over and over and over again.  It’s not Talon, and that almost makes the situation worse than it was before.  The terror organization, though a noted thorn in the world’s side, is a known entity – they can deal with that.  But if he believes Gabriel Reyes, and boy howdy but he is inclined to do so, this was done well outside the group’s reach.  Without their knowledge, and while being framed, nonetheless.  A gang in Russia framed, too.

Whoever this knew group is, they know their shit.  This was planned.  This is three, maybe even four steps ahead than Overwatch, still fumbling around blindly after its resurrection from the ashes.  This is  _ alarming _ , he knows, and it’s not helping the way his heart thumps against his chest even as he tries to clear his mind.

Because if it’s not Russia and the omnics floating through his absent thoughts, it’s beautiful grey eyes and a crisp, clean accent.  Damn that man, but if he wasn’t exquisite – he has no right to be as tied into this life as Jesse himself, and still be the picture of beauty and grace.  At least, Jesse thinks with a soft sigh, he’s fairly certain Hanzo isn’t going to shove a knife between his ribs the moment he turns around.  Terrible as the cowboy’s manners were upon their first few encounters (and truly atrocious they were indeed), the archer had maintained some sense of civility.

And damn all to hell and back if his advice wasn’t sound – oh, Jesse still didn’t much approve that one of those  _ ghosts _ happened to be Genji, but beggars didn’t have much room to be choosing these days.

The gunslinger rolled over again, kicking his quilt to the floor in a messy heap as he stared across the room.  Red lights blinked back at him.   _ 4:38 _ .

Well.  He tried.

Sitting up with a tired noise, the brunet took several moments to stretch out stiff limbs, relishing the pleasure-pain-pleasure that came with each time a joint popped back into place.  He was slow to dress, but dressed all the same, leaving blankets and sheets in a heap as he shuffled out his room and down the hall.  Most the others were likely sleeping still and his spurs didn’t jingle once.  A quiet coffee wouldn’t do him much harm, anyhow.  If he couldn’t sleep, the least he could do was center himself before Winston called on the agents of Overwatch to actually start earning their keep.

It seemed, however, that the cowboy was not the only one having trouble sleeping in the wee hours of the morning.  The earthy scent of coffee floated from the kitchen, a dim light glowing from around the corner.  At the counter leaned Angela, her delicate fingers wrapped around her mug.  The silhouettes of trees decorated the ceramics, a far off memory of a place entirely unlike Gibraltar.

“Homesick?” Jesse hazarded, wincing as the woman startled out of her thoughts.  He held his palms up as he slowly shifted towards the cabinet to fish out a mug for himself – unlike some of the others, the cowboy didn’t own any specific dishware.  Too clunky to keep when a man was on the run.

“Ah, Jesse,” the blonde exhaled, shoulders settling back down.  “Always, a bit – but coming back to this Watchpoint feels a bit like coming home.”  The good doctor gave pause, her eyes flicking back down to the pale swirl of her coffee.  “I was thinking about Russia.”

“Think we all are, buttercup.  Ain’t nothin’ good goin’ on there, that’s ‘fer damn sure.”

A heavy silence blanketed the pair, broken only by the occasional sip of biting coffee.  When their shoulders brushed, Jesse glanced over at the younger agent – after a moment, he extended one thick arm, tucking Angie underneath.  “S’gonna be alright, Angie.  We’re older now.  Wiser, an’ all that.  We’re gonna get this taken care of before it blows up ‘ny bigger, y’here?”

The woman sighed, tapping short fingernails against the cup before peeking back up at her friend.  “Do you really believe that, Jess?”

_ No. _

“Sure do, sweetpea,” he hummed, dropping a kiss on the woman’s head.  The large hand on her shoulder squeezes comfortingly.  They needed her, they did.  And she’d some of the worst of it, hadn’t she?  Might not be killing people as often as he did, but he never did have to stick his hands inside a friend and hope to whatever higher power existed that he still had enough in him to pull this one though, too.

Jesse huffed softly – Angela seemed to shake off the feeling at the same time.  She lingered in the warmth of his embrace a moment longer, the shuffle of her feet dilatory as she peered down the hall.  “I suppose I should make sure we have supplies at the ready,” she murmured, setting her mug in the sink.  “No idea what Winston is thinking?”

“None,” Jesse replied, rubbing his chin.  “If it’s anyone tha’ knows, s’probably Jack,” he added as an afterthought, realizing only when Angela’s eyes widened that he’d blown his secret.  After a moment, he shrugged a shoulder.  “I know, buttercup.  We had…a chat, me an’ him.”

“…is everything alright, Jesse?”

“Right as rain,” he grunted, convincing no one.  “Gotta worry ‘bout Russia first.”

The woman nodded – the mission had to come first.  “I will work on the packs.  Try to get some sleep, yes?  For me?”

Jesse chuckled, shooing his friend with a hand.  “Right back at you, beautiful,” even if he had no such intention.  Even if he poured himself a second cup of coffee once the woman was out of sight.  Even if he slowly puttered down empty hallways while other agents slept, his feet slowly finding their way through the station to the cliffs where he often lingered when thoughts became too heavy.

What would Ana say, what would she  _ do _ ?

The cowboy worked his jaw, fishing out a cigar to put between his lips.  Lighting it up with a cup in his hands was a task, but he managed, and he settled at his perch with his two favorite vices.  What would  _ Gabe _ do?  What was Gabriel  _ doing _ ?

“You are thinking too hard, cowman.  I can hear it from here.”

His head jerks up, coffee sloshing as he awkwardly tried to avoid splashing any of the dark liquid on his flannel shirt.  Whisky eyes peered up from underneath the brim of his trusty hat; perched on a stone not five paces away sat Hanzo, a cup of his own in pale hands as he stared out across the quiet ocean.  “I won’t bite, Jesse.”

The cowboy snorts softly, mind working too slowly still to come up with a zingy response.  Instead, he shuffles over to the archer’s perch, leaning a shoulder against it as smoke curls lazily from his mouth.  The other man remains perched above his shoulder.  “Y’jes’ startled me some,” he replied, gaze searching the horizon.  “Not much used t’anyone else knowin’ ‘bout this place.”

“Ah.”  Steely grey eyes finally broke away from the distant future, peering down at the brim of the man’s hat.  “I did not realize this was a private space.  I could leave if you--”

Jesse held up a hand, not allowing the older man to finish.  “Naw.  Dun worry ‘bout it,” he murmured, taking a sip of his coffee.  Wasn’t like his name was scrawled across the orange stone.  He tipped his head, meeting Hanzo’s gaze.  “Seriously.  Ain’t like th’ shootin’ range.  Ain’t gonna bite.”  His mouth slanted in a sideways grin, a hint of color appearing on dusty cheeks.  His pride wasn’t interested in another shootout, either.  “Reckon I’d prefer th’ company a’ someone else than m’ own self, ‘nyways.”

“Mmm,” Hanzo agreed quietly, glancing back out towards the gently rolling sea.  “Did you get any more of those answers?”

“Naw.  Not much changed.”  The American shook his head, a heavy sigh dropping his shoulders.  He’d managed a few hours of sleep since they met in the range – not nearly enough, but to be fair, it was more than he’d had in days before.  Angela hadn’t been of much help; but then, he’d been more interested in settling the flustered medic than he’d been in mining her conscious for answers to questions he’d held for years on end.  It could wait until after Russia.  It had to.

When he glanced back over at Hanzo, the archer had unfolded himself, slipping forward until his legs hung off the ledge of the stone.  Comfortable pants brushed against the ledge, the man’s loose muscle shirt revealing  _ far more _ of the older man’s chest than Jesse had ever seen previously.  The cowboy swallowed hard.

_ Tasteful sideboob _ , that voice in his mind snickered, sounding too much like Reyes.

_ Eyes up! _ his mind reminded him a moment later, and yes, Ana  _ had _ taught him better manners than that, hadn’t she?  He lifted his gaze, clearing his throat to change the topic when calloused fingers suddenly probed into the tangle of his beard.  Jesse swallowed again, almost choking on his own tongue.  “Wha--”

The finger tips continued to move along his jawline, seeking – a moment later, a sharp press caused the gunslinger to hiss, withdrawing, and Hanzo gave a knowing hum.  “Your confrontation was physical,” he murmured, pulling back to reach for his cup.  “You did not mention a fight.”

Jesse gave a soft sigh, turning his head to exhale the smoke into the breeze, away from his companion.  “Didn’ seem important, really.  Ain’ like it was real damage.”  Another huff, gaze flicking sideways to his companion.  “Mighta started it.”

“Ahh.”  Hanzo did not comment on the man’s temper, instead dipping his fingers into the white cup.  Fishing two ice cubes free, he shuffled forward, still sitting on his perch as he leaned forward, pressing the ice to the hidden bruise beneath Jesse’s scruff.  Noting the raised eyebrows, he elaborated.  “You were slurring.  More than your usual drawl.”

“I was naw--”

“You were,” the archer insisted, cutting the argument off.  “Not like a man with too much drink.  Just enough to hear.”  He hummed, pleased that the cowboy did not seem to be interested in any further contention.  The ice had begun to melt in his fingers, so he left it there, allowing the silence to rest between them with ease.

But for all of Hanzo’s peace and calm, Jesse was left holding his breath, holding the smoke in his lungs.  It left him watching those silver-grey eyes, carefully studying his invisible wound, and  _ (eyes up!) _ the archer had never been this close before, had he?  He--  He smelled  _ nice.   _ Smelled like sage and pomegranate and peppermint, sharp and clean, and--  Is that what he tasted like?

_ Whoa there, partner _ .

The archer drew away, nothing left in his hand but the last trickles of cool water, and Jesse gave himself a short shake, trying to fling the unwelcome questions from his mind.  It had been a long time, a  _ long time,  _ since he’d had any such thoughts – fleeting interest, at best, a night passed with some company before two ships set sail in the coming dawn.  It had never been another  _ agent _ , someone he was supposed to  _ work with _ —

Hell and tarnation, no wonder Gabriel had gotten so bloody  _ tense _ in those last days.

Jesse shook again, earning himself a curious look.  “Sorry,” he huffed, wheezing slightly as he finally allowed whispers of smoke to billow free from lips and nose.  “Sorry.  Easy t’get lost thinkin’.”

“Yes,” Hanzo agreed, finally withdrawing from Jesse’s space.  “I fear there will be no respite in the days to come.”

 

* * *

Jesse and Hanzo had gone their separate ways, each with their own method of preparation before the impending meeting, the inevitable mission out to Siberia.   _ All hands on deck _ , Jesse supposed, busying himself with his own supplies, making Peacekeeper was well and cared for, when Athena summoned him with red blinking lights, communicator vibrating aggressively as it insisted he make his way back to the conference room.

The cowboy wasted no time, jingling down the hallway as his mind jumped three beats ahead.  If there had been another attack in Russia—  If something had happened at the sites he investigated--

Most of his questions were answered as the door slide open with a soft  _ snick _ .  The elder Shimada brother had already arrived, thick arms folded across his chest as he stared one of Talon’s most infamous agents down.  “—all the resources you need, mon cherie.  Shimada-Kai won’t be any contest.”

The dragon lord snorted softly, something like lightning flashing across storm grey eyes.  “You think to settle your dispute by buying people to Talon’s side?  I am not interested,” he answered stonily, as if this was not a new conversation. Jesse moved quickly across the room, eager to put a table between himself and the stone cold agent who’d put a bullet through a  _ monk’s _ head.

They were all criminals, in some sense of the word, but even McCree had  _ some _ sense of decency left in him, he liked to think.

“Our offer was to make you powerful again.”

“I was never anything  _ but. _  I am the best.  You cannot purchase the Shimada-Kai.”

If Hanzo’s refusal wasn’t enough, it seemed Jesse’s company was plenty to dampen her attempts, alien eyes shifting from her target to the cowboy.  Despite himself, the man offered a mirthless grin.

“If y’all ‘er done with th’ wheelin’ an’ dealin’,” he drawled, reaching for the cigar hanging between chapped lips.  “Reckon y’all ain’t invited here.”  His right hand fell to the holster on his hip, feeling a small surge of satisfaction as several of the grunts on either of Widowmaker’s sides tensed visible. 

“You always did shoot first,” the chair rasped, spinning around to reveal none other than Reaper sprawled lazily at the head of the table.  He picked up his legs, boots dropped heavily on the wood looking all the world like he owned the place – not like two Talon members who’d casually invited themselves into Overwatch’s base of operations.  (That they were able to infiltrate at all was alarming at the very least, but the man was still talking, and the cowboy forced himself to tune back in mid sentence.) 

“—offer a truce.  Omnic takeover isn’t good for  _ business _ ,” the man growled softly, tipping his mask in Winston’s direction.  A moment later, it fell to where Soldier: 76 followed.  The air seemed to crackle with tension before he continued, addressing the room at large.  “Didn’t I tell you to check your sources?”

Winston pushed his glasses up as he moved around the other agents, muttering something indiscernible.  The soldier was close behind, fingers opening and closing into fists; with the bright orange visor masking his face, everything else remained unreadable.  “What do you want?” the scientist asked, making a point to remain between the intruders and everyone else.

“We are offering our resources as long as this  _ threat _ remains,” Widow replied crisply, sniffing.  Hadn’t he been listening?

Jesse can feel Reaper’s gaze shift underneath the bone white mask, the eerie red glow underneath giving him an odd sparkle of life.  Why was he here if Talon and Overwatch were enemies?  What about everything the man had told him days ago? 

No, he knew why – Talon needed allies.   _ Gabriel _ needed allies, needed resources he didn’t have, needed  _ Overwatch _ to prove that he had nothing to do with the omnic problem in Russia.  And, then what--? 

“Why show up now?” Jesse demanded, interrupting whatever the soldier had been growling to the former Overwatch operatives.  “Y’all had plenty opportunity before.  Ain’t you got somethin’ t’ blow up?”

The face beneath the mask fixed on him sharply.  The cowboy could feel his skin prickle.  “Shut up and use your brain, ingrate.”

Hanzo bristled quietly next to him, stance widened ever so slightly as he narrowed his eyes.  Jesse might have asked, or perhaps the archer meant to say something, but the soldier had beaten them to the punch.  “Watch your mouth,” he growled softly, having moved out from Winston’s shoulder almost immediately, “and show some respect.”

Bewilderment flickered across the gunslinger’s face briefly; if anyone noticed, then they were too focused on the eminent threat to mention anything.  Jesse inhaled sharply, relishing the dark, earthy flavor.  With the exhale left any remaining shock – it happened once.  He wasn’t going to dwell on it.

_ Not when it was likely just ammunition in the endless war between Reyes and Morrison. _

“Before,” Widowmaker was pressing on, clearly uninterested in the staring match unfolding between the pair of former soldiers, “there had been no attack.”  Her eyes glinted in the low light, delicate hands settling on hips.  “Now, there is death.  Evidence of omnic uprising.  If this is a god program--”

“There’s no way.”

“If this is a god program,” the assassin pressed on, ignoring Winston’s interruption, “then we do not have the required resources.  And given the recent recall, neither do you.”  Her mouth quirked in mild amusement as the gorilla flinched visibly, unable to benefit from the years of training every other person in the room had gone through in years before.  “This is not good for us.  Not good for business.”

“And fuck all to the people dying, huh?” Soldier: 76 snorted, the mask unable to hide the thickening drawl in his voice. 

Reaper shifted, feet hitting the floor as he leaned on the table.  “Our motives sure as hell aren’t the same,  _ boy scout _ ,” he snarled, studying the soldier intensely for any reaction.  The twitch of his shoulders was enough, and he pressed on, something unnervingly gleeful given the topic at hand.  “But the enemy of my enemy is my friend.  For now.  Besides, Overwatch is all about the good, right?  You can’t help people if you can’t stop this shit.”

Silence fell across the room, save for the soft touch of fingers to a data pad as Winston tapped figures into the tablet at a blinding speed.  Jesse hazarded a sideways glance at Hanzo, though the archer was decidedly unreadable. 

In fact, Jesse realized, the man should have left.   _ He _ should have left, but something insisted he stay, keep an eye on the situation.  An eye on  _ Jack, _ that the man didn’t punch out Reaper in the face of his new-found information.

Perhaps the old soldier deserved a little more credit than he’d given him; but that didn’t explain why Hanzo had lingered either, unless--  Unless he worried about Widowmaker.  Unless he worried about Jesse getting riled and starting another row, but—

“Fine.”

All eyes turned towards Winston.

_ “Fine?” _

“Y’sure ‘bout this?”

The scientist waved off all other attempted arguments with a large hand, heavy sigh shaking his shoulders.  “Yes.  Fine.  We will  _ temporarily _ suspend any hostile actions against Talon agents and share information.”  He shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.  “Talon will not engage in hostility, and will also agree to be forthcoming with any information.”  His glare seemed to be fixed on the cloaked figure.  “Do we have a deal, Reaper?”

“Gabriel,” Jesse choked out, before his mind could wrangle control of his tongue.

“It’s Reaper,” the wraith replied harshly, upon his feet.  “You have a deal – expect the files by morning.  We’ll expect the same.”

With that, he disappeared as abruptly as he’d made himself known, disappearing in a waft of smoke.  Widow and her henchmen made similar exits, none of which involving proper doors, leaving the four Overwatch agents alone in the large conference room.

“What th’ hell,” Jesse drawled, dipping his head.  He tipped his hat down, exit made in silence, even as Hanzo (and Jack Morrison, too), questioned his sudden withdrawal.

 

* * *

The knock on his door startled him, hat toppling to the mattress carelessly as he jolted to his feet.  For a moment, he was frozen, staring at the door as if it had somehow become possessed.  And then it happened again, knuckles rapping against the metal.  “Jesse?”

The muffled voice kick-started the cowboy for a second time, finishing his journey to door and pulling it open slowly.  Whisky eye peered into the hallway, squinting into the light.  “What?”

“You were not at dinner,” Hanzo replied, pressing a palm into the door, exposing Jesse to more light. 

“Wasn’t hungry,” he mumbled, shielding his eyes as he shuffled inside.  The archer took it as invitation, stepping inside and flicked the light on.  He squinted at Jesse.  Jesse squinted right back.  “What?”

“Earlier today.  It is bothering you, still,” Hanzo hummed, glancing around the cowboy’s quarters.  At their heart, all the private rooms had the same basic layout, but where many took at least a little time to add a few personal touches, it seemed Jesse had not.  The mattress groaned, and Hanzo glanced back over.  “Are you alright with this?”

Jesse huffed, reaching over to stab the cigar stub into the plate haphazardly costuming as an ashtray.  “Suppose so.”  If he wasn’t, it wasn’t like he had much say.  At most, he could refuse to participate in the mission to Siberia.  What kind of person would he be, if he refused to help people out of personal turmoil?  “Wasn’ much expectin’ it t’come t’this.”

“I do not believe any of us were,” Hanzo replied, seating himself daintily beside the other agent.  He folded his tiny feet (why were they so tiny?) underneath him, head tipped to one side as he studied the gunslinger’s face.  “Talon is not known for their benevolence, after all.  But the logic is sound.  Russia is a big market.  And as long as they are being blamed for these attacks…”  The archer trailed off with a shrug.  “They have information we need.  I do not believe Winston had all the necessary resources when he summoned agents back to this base.  It was done out of need, not because everything was right.”

The American huffed again – unfortunately, the older man had a point.  Winston had recalled them because of the potential omnic crisis unfolding, not because everything was fine and dandy.  “Suppose so,” he drawled, shoulders slumping down. “Guess I ain’t sure how this is gonna work out, ‘tween us an’ them.”

“There is no shame in caution,” Hanzo agreed with a sharp nod.  “I would not trust Reaper.  Or Morrison, either.”  As he glanced back over at McCree, he found the cowboy studying him intently.  The dragon lord did not falter once, steel eyes peering back intently.

_ I wonder what he tastes like _ , Jesse’s brain supplied for the second time that day.  Exhausting limited inhibition.  Jesse leaned forward in the next breath, pressing lips together in a chaste brush.  There was no taste, he realized dimly.  Hanzo had frozen, but he hadn’t pulled away, he realized a moment later.  “This okay?” he grunted, one bushy eyebrow arching.

“You will be the first to know if it is not,” Hanzo grunted, pink tongue flashing over his lips as his mind whirled.  Jesse felt the sudden urge to chase it.  Oh, he might have found a keen interest in the man who would not be so readily intimidated by the Shimada name, but his intentions upon visiting McCree’s room were strictly to check on the man’s well-being.  

 

Keep cool, Hanzo.  

 

“I do not believe I asked you to stop.”

“Bossy,” Jesse mumbled, already pressing their mouths together, his tongue running over those wet lips.  He was granted access within an instant, brushing into Hanzo’s mouth with a pleased sigh. 

_ Peppermint _ , he realized, brushing his tongue against the archer’s.   _ He tastes like peppermint. _

Hanzo was no wilting rose, pushed back into the kiss almost as soon as he permitted Jesse access.  It was not gentle, this kiss, lips pressed together, tongues tangling in a silent quest for dominance.  It did not take long for McCree to give way, to allow the archer the lead.  A hand pushed in the center of his chest and the younger man went down, flopping bonelessly against his bed.  Hanzo followed with significantly more grace, unfolding his legs in a single fluid motion before rearranging himself over the cowboy’s hips.  Once comfortable, he leaned back down, calloused fingers brushing through wild brown hair as he pressed their lips back together.

When Jesse did not open his mouth quickly enough, he was granted a swift bite to his lower lip.  The sound that escaped was caught somewhere between a growl and a groan.  Whatever it was, it was deemed acceptable, because the fingers in his hair curled into his scalp, and the dragon answered with a soft growl of his own.

_ I could do this forever. _

The thought drifted through Jesse’s mind as he groaned again, fingers curling into Hanzo’s shirt.

“We will not.”

_ Oh. _

Not a thought, then.  The brunet recoiled slightly, brows starting to furrow as he pulled back, willing his eyes to focus on the face only inches away from his.  Before he could protest, Hanzo spoke back up.

“A mission in the morning, McCree.  This can continue later.  You need to sleep.”

“So do you,” he replied a bit more sourly than intended, voice thick in his throat.  “Stay.”  Hanzo raised his brows, a soft snort following.  Jesse held out open palms.  “Jes’ sleep.  Promise.”  When he still didn’t get a response, the man cleared his throat, having the decency to look a bit sheepish.  “Easier, when it ain’t so silent.  Don’t think so hard.”

“Ah,” the archer finally replied, swinging over to reposition himself on the mattress.  They were not touching, save for the brush of one arm against another.  “I will stay.  For a little bit.” 

Jesse decided to count it as a win, and did not argue against the older man.  “Fair enough,” he mumbled quietly, wiggling once as he settled himself.  It was better than nothing.  “Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope the wait was worth it, at least. :D;;


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I fucked up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, I am so, so very sorry for the wait. My attempt at NaNo this year was not a success, but did manage to keep me away from here ... followed by a crippling self-doubt, of course. So here is a short chapter -- which I also apologize for -- but something is better than nothing, and I promise I will see TDYK out. Additionally, no more novel-writing to distract me before I finish this out.

It starts just like the morning last – only it is totally, entirely different.  Jesse startles awake, heart in his throat even before his eyes fly open.  One open hand searches the sheets, finds them empty, and cold.  Hanzo must have left some time ago, after he’d fallen asleep.  Fingers curled in on themselves briefly; but not was not the time to feel any bit of pity.  Frankly, he didn’t deserve Hanzo’s time at all, not after the first…several times they’d met.  A sigh whistled through the cowboy’s nose before he hoisted himself up, pushing himself out of bed and running a hand through his hair. 

 

 _Too much t’ ask,_ he thought to himself.

 

_You never did know when to quite when to quit, cabron._

“Ain’t you supposed t’shut up now that yer real again?”  Jesse groused, eyes narrowed as he glanced into the mirror briefly.  Dark eyes with dark circles peered at him from under shaggy brown hair, but the wraith never appeared, leaving only silence, and the man’s thoughts.  Sometimes it was hard to remember it was only a voice, probably only a voice – especially if Gabriel Reyes had never been killed at all.

 

The man turned, pulling on a button-down before smoothing fingers through his hair.  He caught on a tangle, and then another, and then the man dropped his hat on his head, hiding the rat’s nest underneath.  The clock read 3:47.  His mind read _coffee._

 

Easier to answer the call, he supposed.

 

That starts just like the morning last, too.  The cowboy bumbles into the kitchen and standing there is Angela, a blank expression on her face as fingers cupped her mug.  _Starry Night,_ Jesse noted absently, and cleared his throat in a weak attempt not to startle the woman as he reached into the cabinet for a mug of his own.  “Rough night?” he rumbled, voice all gravel and sand paper.

 

Her smile is weak at best.  “I thought we might have left by now,” she replied, finally breaking away from her mile-long stare.  “I know it is only a few more hours, but--”  The sentence is aborted with a shrug, Angela staring down into her cup with a small sigh.  “I hate this feeling.”

 

Jesse slid over once his coffee was poured, leaning against the kitchen counter.  “Hey now,” he murmured, gently bumping their shoulders together.  “We’ll be alright, Angie.  Better t’ go in prepared than half-cocked, yeah?  We did that before.  Worked out like shit.”  He tried offering his friend a small smile and was rewarded with a tiny grin in return.

 

“Do you remember when you thought you knew better than Reyes?  Why, I had only been here two months, I do believe – he dragged you into the medical bay and I honestly thought he was going to kill you on the spot.  I didn’t quite understand his moods, not then, but oh, I really was worried he was going to kill you over that lost shipment.”

 

Jesse snorted softly, brows knitting.  “Yeah, see?  S’what I mean.  Ain’t rushin’ into this – Winston knows what he’s doin’.  Wants t’ make sure we’re effective.  Get th’ job done, an’ get everyone home.  Yeah?”

 

“Yes…yes.  I know…I know you are correct,” the woman replied after a moment, finally take a sip from her mug.  She frowned.  “Cold,” she muttered under her breath, moving from her perch towards the kettle.  She glanced over her shoulder as she put it back on the stove top and reached for a new bag of tea.  “Now, why are you awake, _schnuki?_   Surely you would not be giving me advice you yourself do not take, hmm?”

 

The gunslinger ducked his head, fiddling with the rim of his hat.  “Naw.  Used t’ missions, darlin’.  Ain’t no different than--”  It was hard to say his name even now, even knowing his commanding officer hadn’t been killed in the explosion that had taken the Swiss Headquarters a lifetime ago.  Jesse rubbed the heel of a palm against his eye.  “Ain’t no different than th’ others.”

 

Angela arched her delicate brows, looking far more awake now that she had someone else’s problems to focus her busy mind on.  “No?”  She paused only long enough to pour the steaming water over a fresh tea bag.  “Jesse McCree is not usually a creature of the night.”

 

“Jesse McCree’s changed some over th’ years, buttercup.”

 

The doctor pursued her lips.  “I know you, McCree.  A morning person, you will never be.  You only wander the halls when there is something on your mind.”

 

Silence fell over the pair like a heavy blanket of Gibraltar’s red dust, leaving Jesse’s mouth dry as the Mojave back on Route 66.  When he chanced a glance through messy hair, he found his friend still staring back at him.  The problem with people who knew you, he supposed, licked his chapped lips.  He opened his mouth, and finding no words, downed his cup of coffee instead.  Maybe it was the sharp warmth against his throat, or just the movement jostling his thoughts, but his words came unstuck and he tapped his fingers against the empty cup.

 

“Jes’ thinkin’ too much, I guess.”

 

“You will need to elaborate, Jess.”

 

“I, uh--  You know things weren’t goin’ all that great with Hanzo.”  She nodded.  “So I, y’know.  Ran into him.  Again.  An’ despite th’ fact I might a’ been less than hospitable when first we met, he been…well, he been pretty alright.  Sound advice, an’ all that.”

 

Jesse trailed off, dropping his head.  When Angela made no effort to chime in, he found another thought, and continued.  “I fucked up, Angie.  I fucked it up real bad.”

 

Finally, the woman made her way back over, setting steeping tea on the counter before wrapping her arms around her friend’s shoulders.  “Oh, Jesse,” she hummed, pulling him into a hug.  “It isn’t that bad.  It might not have been your finest moment, but he’s clearly seen beyond that.  Do you think he would be giving you good advice if he didn’t like you?”

 

The cowboy shook his head.  “Naw, Angie – that was a _terrible_ first impression.  Terrible.  An’ y’ can’t make a first impression more than once, tha’s th’ whole nature of th’ damn thing.”  He sighed, shoulders dropping. 

 

The Swede allowed silence to blanket them for a moment, pulling the man into a closer embrace.  “Now, Jess, I don’t think all is lost.”  She pressed a kiss to his temple before drawing back to return to her tea.  “He wouldn’t talk to you at all if you put him off that badly.  You’re a charming man – don’t look at me like that, you know well that Reyes would have killed you time and time again if you hadn’t been so delightful--”

 

“Reyes would _not_ call me _delightful_ , Angela Ziegler, what--”

 

“The point is, he never _actually_ killed you, which speaks volumes to your ability to be likeable when you want to be, so _buck up_ , and be the likeable person you _actually are._ ”

 

Jesse opened his mouth to argue and paused there, brow furrowing.  A moment later, his teeth clicked shut and the man huffed a sigh.  There was no point in arguing with her, and--  Well, he might not have the wherewithal to say so out loud, but for all the years that he’d worked with Blackwatch, for everything he fucked up or intentionally sabotaged, his Commander had never actually taken him out back to take the tar out of him; the same couldn’t be said for the days spent back in Deadlock.

 

Shaking the ghost of Gabriel past from his memory, the cowboy turned about.  No use reminiscing now.  Jessed helped himself to what remained in the coffee put, musing softly as he started work on the next pot.  The others would be stirring soon.  “Yeah,” he agreed, long after conversation had run its course.  “Suppose a friend ain’t never out of line.”

 

“See?  What a wonderful idea!” Angela cooed happily.  “Now, come here, help me with this – can’t send everyone off on an empty belly now, can we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to any lovely folk who have stuck with me this long. <3


End file.
